Shallow Graves
by ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo
Summary: In which a hunting accident causes fates and lives to entwine. e/e, marius/cosette, R/jehan/montparnasse, bossuet/joly/musichetta, azelma/feuilly, valjean/fantine/javert love triangle. (Written in celebration of a certain TV show's season four premiere)
1. In Which a Timer Is Set and Forgotten

**Important notes:**

**The AU is the Walking Dead, but if you haven't seen the show, it's essentially a zombie apocalypse AU. **

**Some characters, (at this point only two, but more to come) have been genderbent. **

**Also, I'm using my personal fancast, so if you're confused by someone's description, that's probably why. A hint of two that are very changed:**

**Marius is Logan Lerman (literally though, he is exactly the brick description)**

**Valjean is Morgan Freeman (HATERS GONNA HATE BUT I MEAN I LOVE THIS CASTING SO MUCH welifilfbuiwuff)**

* * *

Montparnasse aimed slowly. From his perspective in the trees, the buck looked dumb and oblivious to the rifle aimed at its heart. He licked his cherry lips. Maybe, if his keepers were proud enough, he and the other kids could have something to eat that night. His finger itched to pull the trigger and only hesitated when there was the crunching of leaves nearby the buck- _his _buck. Montparnasse shook it off as being a walker or another forest animal.

And he fired the gun. The bullet ripped through the thick skin and flesh of the animal, but its path didn't stop there. Montparnasse saw things as if in slow motion. The bullet emerged from the other side of the buck, and standing there was a beautiful girl, enough to rival (and possibly beat) the Thérnardier girls. He watched helplessly as the bits of the bullet struck her chest and she collapsed with a feminine cry.

At once, two bulky men appeared behind her, one shouting and lunging for the girl and the other glaring at Montparnasse.

"Cosette! My darling Cosette!" The man on the ground cried, holding the girl with his aged-wrinkled hands. The other man, a tall figure with red hair and kind eyes that were too cold to emit the kindness he had the potential of sharing. Montparnasse jumped down from the tree and tried to go to the pair on the ground- a father and daughter if he had to guess.

"You stay back." The red-head snarled. Montparnasse was shoved roughly away and then he debated. These two, if the case called for it, could easily overtake his keepers. Maybe… Maybe they were salvation in the strangest form.

"I know a place where she can be treated." Montparnasse said. Both pairs of eyes snapped to him then, and soon the girl's ragged breathing was all that filled the clearing. "The Gorbeu plantation."

* * *

"Don't ya see anythin' worth eating?" Thérnardier snapped. The madame rolled her eyes and indicated her empty basket.

"Does it _look _like I got anythin'?" She threw the wicker thing to the ground and stomped- it was enough to rattle the ground under her monstrous feet. "I don't know if any of this is edible!"

"Pick it anyway." Thérnardier ordered. "We can give it to the brats and have 'em test it for us."

"Those are your _children_." The madame always drew the line there- knocking her children around was alright- beating them was fine- but possibly killing them?

"I was talkin' about the _other _three! Y'know, Gueulemer, 'Parnasse and that Pontmercy fellow." Thérnardier picked up a particularly fat berry and sniffed it before recoiling. "Don't seem to matter none, anyway. None of these seems to be any good. "

"So this entire trip wa' a waste?" The madame yanked at her baggy, expensive top (not the best choice for the situation, honestly) and fanned her skin with her beefy hand. Her dark hair was stuck to her golden skin, and for a moment the puny, gray-skinned, gray-haired man remembered when she was beautiful and thin, a little Hispanic chica he ran into while in jail.

He was pulled from reminisce by sounds of running. He looked and saw two unfamiliar and terrifying looking men rushing the mansion with Montparnasse being pulled behind them. Thérnardier saw the guns, and counted his lucky stars that half of their supplies were at the neighboring house.

"Looks like we can no longer enjoy our life o' luxury, darling." Thérnardier grabbed his wife's arm and lugged her into the woods. "They're gonna take over the house, they are."

"They are men alone with _our_ daughters!" Madame was, once again, shocked at her husband's heartlessness. The man shrugged and continued walking away.

"Let the brats fend for themselves."

* * *

There was yelling; that's what Éponine first registered. Azelma looked over at her and it was clear that they were both thinking the same thing.

_Who is that fucking idiot?_

It could possibly be their parents, but Éponine doubted that. Her father, overall, was a clever man who occasionally made stupid decisions. Like what he did to ensure that he still had their free labor. Éponine glanced nervously around the spacious kitchen. Her handcuffs (stolen from the animated corpse of a police officer) kept her tied to the oven, while Azelma's kept her to the fridge. If she were to open the door, she would see Marius, Gavroche and Gueulemer similarly restrained.

Gueulemer and Montparnasse's group sold them for a sum of five cans of corn beef hash, willingly paid for by her parents who now had masculine labor. (Poor Marius was not suited to the farm life, despite having lived on the Plantation since the age of three) Thérnardier kept his daughters and wife in the kitchen, insisting that it was a woman's place and that they were not allowed to argue. Oftentimes, Éponine found herself locked in her room and gagged because of talking back.

She didn't know when her parents' insides went so dark. They'd never been good people, but their snug little country-side house contained a few family memories. And then the world went to hell.

The Thérnardiers seized the opportunity to move into a higher class- not that there was any comparison anymore. Their next door neighbors, The Guillemonds, were booted out (except for Marius, who, at the time, was Éponine's boyfriend of a few months), and the family lived in style.

But now, their 'home' appeared in danger because of these yelling idiots. Footsteps pounded on the front steps and Éponine heard the front door be flung open. The yelling was still continuing- and it was an unfamiliar voice.

Montparnasse burst into the kitchen, his face flushed and his narrow chest heaving. He ran for the kitchen knives and broke Éponine's chains, all while she watched dumb-struck.

"What's going on?"

"Medical… Attention… Needed." Was all he could muster. Éponine seemed to understand, though, and ran for where Montparnasse indicated the intruders were. In one of the guest bedrooms, two men were shouting at each other over the motionless and bloody body of a girl only a few years Éponine's senior.

"Shut up!" She shouted. They did and looked over at her. She felt almost naked under their protective scrutiny- it was obvious that the girl meant a lot to both of them. Éponine _knew _that she was not the ideal doctor, especially not for someone in such a state. She was a smallish girl of barely eighteen with bruised and battered skin, and matted hair that remained tangled no matter how many times she took advantage of their still-running water.

"Your _friend_," The younger of the two spoke, narrowing his green eyes. With the combination of his narrowed eyes, his bristled appearance, and his ginger whiskers, he appeared to Éponine to be a cat about to pounce. "Shot her. You owe it to us to fix her."

She frowned at this. Montparnasse was a great shot, and he wouldn't hit a girl, especially not one so pretty. He really did like pretty things, this strange new edition to her family's survival group. "How?" She asked.

The weary one who seemed to want to be at the girl's side at all times spoke up. "He shot a buck and the bullet went through and hit her."

"It was an accident; So we owe you nothing." Éponine said mildly to the ginger man. "But I'll help you anyway." She got close to the girl and cleared her throat. The ginger man left the room awkwardly, but the one with white hair refused to. Although he and the girl looked nothing alike (the girl on the bed had light strawberry hair and creamy skin with the hint of a sunburn while the man had brown skin wrinkled by the sun and dark hair striping through the white), he appeared to be her father in everything but blood.

She set to work, gingerly removing the girl's top. She left the worn sports bra on for the sake of the father, but continued inspecting. She sighed in relief- her limited medical expertise would not be much of an issue. The pieces of the bullet- there were only three of them- had barely even pierced her skin and were visible through the wounds. The large amount of blood was due to what seemed to be a rock that lodged itself in her scalp as she- presumably- fell. Headwounds bled a lot.

"She'll be fine. It's not a serious injury." She told the man. He looked at her warily.

"Cosette was _shot_."

"Yes," Éponine resisted sarcasm. "I can see that. The bullet pieces are very few and shallow. They can easily be removed without surgery and with a few days' rest, she can be back… Wherever you guys were before."

"Can we stay here until she is well?" The man asked. "My name is Valjean, by the way. My… friend… out there is Javert and this is my daughter, Cosette."

"I'm called Éponine… The boy who brought you here is Montparnasse." Éponine responded. "How many are in your group? I doubt it's just the three of you."

"Your doubts are correct." Valjean said. "There are many in our make-shift family. Including my wife, Fantine. She needs to know what happened to Cosette, and Enjolras will need to be restrained and held from… Montparnasse was his name?"

"Yes. Who is Enjolras?"

"Her older brother. He and his friends make up the rest of our group, along with a strange church warden by the name of Mabeuf." Valjean said. "Could you possibly send word? We are camped on the highway and I cannot bear to leave Cosette. Javert will not want to leave us alone with strangers, either."

"I understand." Éponine said. She found herself liking Valjean more and more by the moment. He had the kindly aura of a grandfather and yet the aggressive protective personality of a father. His voice was that of a movie narrator and lulled Éponine into trusting- something she never did, not even with her family or Marius. "I will send my sister."

* * *

"Mrs. Valjean, I'm sure that everything's going to be alright-" Bossuet tried to tell her, but she simply shot him a hard look and returned to simultaneously watching the horizon and Enjolras, who was keeping watch high in a tree.

Fantine nearly cried with relief when she heard loud, determined footsteps through the trees, but when she realized they were not human, her heart sank within her chest.

"Marc, what is it?" She asked her son. He rolled his eyes.

"It's _Enjolras_, mom, and it's…" He stumbled off and peered at something in the distance. "A girl… On a horse."

"Is it your sister?" She asked. He shrugged.

"The hair color is similar, but I think she's too skinny." Enjolras climbed down with calculated moves that he acquired surprisingly quickly for someone who lived his whole life in the city. "I'll go meet her half way- we don't want to attract any walkers."

"No," Fantine said distractedly, not noticing that her son was long gone. "We don't."

Bossuet rubbed his bald head and looked over to Grantaire, who shrugged and took a sip of whisky. She sighed contentedly and curled around the flask as if it was a stuffed animal.

"Grantaire! Put the whisky back in the first aid kit, we _need _that!" Joly chastised and snatched it away from her grip. She reached dramatically for it before falling back lazily into her previous spot. Jehan laughed and made his way over to his good friend.

"Try this." He handed her another flask. Grantaire took a sip and spat it out quickly.

"God, what _is _that?" She shook her tongue as if trying to rid herself of the taste.

"Water." Jehan said, trying not to laugh. She shot him a death glare, but even then sank into his arms.

It was then that Enjolras stumbled back into the camp, a young girl on horseback right behind them. He looked panicked and angry- a mix _not _suited for Enjolras. Combeferre noted it and put all the guns out of his friend's sight.

"Mom, you need to come quick. Cosette's been shot."

* * *

While Éponine was delicately removing the bullet from Cosette, Montparnasse stood with Javert in the living room while the former tried to break the other three boys out of their restraints. The latter looked on with a cool eye.

"Is there a particular reason that these children are being treated like animals?" Javert spat. He wasn't a big fan of Montparnasse- then again, also not of anyone in his group save the Valjean family. Even then, he was on thin ice around Enjolras.

"Éponine's parents… They don't want us to run away. The three of us were out, me Mr. Thérnardier, and Mrs. We were getting food.. They won't be too pleased to come back and see them all free, but…" Montparnasse trailed off.

Javert understood, to a certain extent. His representation of understanding was given in a much-appreciated silence. Once the smallest boy was released- a scraggly thing no older than twelve, he ran up the stairs two at a time without saying thank you to Montparnasse.

"Thankless little fucker." Montparnasse said fondly. The other two rubbed their wrists and observed Javert with even stares. One was bulky and rather stupid looking, with a face disfigured from too much fighting. The other was slight and rather pretty, with long dark hair and a smooth face.

Just then, hooves were heard nearby and the front door once again opened with a bang. A thunderstorm of stomping filled the entryway as Fantine rushed in.

"Where is she? Where is my baby?" She begged of Javert. The man's face softened and he gently led her to the stairs.

"Second door on the right." He told her. She thanked him with a sloppy kiss on the cheek and sprinted there.

In the meantime, Enjolras stalked in, holding the youngest Thérnardier girl by the elbow. She was protesting and finally yanked away from him, rubbing the spot indignantly.

"Is he the one?" Enjolras asked her. She nodded, and Enjolras strode right over to Montparnasse with a raised fist. Jehan and Combeferre lunged for him and pressed him to the ground while he yelled at the other boy. "THAT WAS MY SISTER, YOU BASTARD!"

"Enjolras, _calm down_," Jehan begged. "It won't do anything to fight amongst the living."

Enjolras did, eventually, stop squirming enough that his friends felt comfortable enough to release him. Feuilly watched quietly from behind her cousin, Bahorel, whose fists were unclenching once it became clear that a fight was not going to happen.

Fantine slowly came down the stairs and made her way back inside the room, looking exhausted but considerably calmer. Enjolras took his mother by the shoulders and she managed a white-toothed smile up at him.

"She's going to be okay, thanks to a little girl who knows medicine." Fantine said. Enjolras frowned and looked over at Joly and Combeferre.

"We probably have people better suited for that-"

"She's okay," Fantine placed a gentle hand on her son's face. "That's all that matters."

"It's a shame," The dark-haired boy on the ground began bitterly, "That the only reason she knows first aid is because she's been beaten everyday for the past year."

A silence fell over the group then, as if they understood what environment they just came into. Enjolras noted the poor condition of the expensive furniture and the bruises on all those who lived in the mansion. The quiet was broken by soft footsteps down the stairs.

Enjolras felt his breath catch in his throat. The girl who stood there was a different brand of pretty. She had skin opposite that of her sister, golden and warm, almost the color of caramel. Her raven hair was piled on top her head in a messy bun and just as the boy said, she appeared beaten down. Still her chin was raised.

"She will be ready to move in three days." The girl looked cooly around the group, faltering for only a second when she met Enjolras's fixed eyes. "I expect you all to vacate the premises by then."

The girl grabbed at her sister and the two slim forms vanished, leaving Gueulemer, Montparnasse, and Marius awkwardly with a group of strangers. Grantaire broke the silence, releasing Jehan's hand to motion around herself.

"So, you got anything to drink around here?"


	2. In Which Enjolras Gets a Hickey?

The first day went surprisingly well. Valjean's group set up camp in the sprawling grounds of the plantation, while the Thérnardier group enjoyed their freedom. Éponine frowned into the darkness when her parents didn't return home that night, but she simply went back inside and tucked in Gavroche and the little boys for the night. She stopped by Cosette's room to see Marius sitting there and soothing the unconscious girl's head with a cool towel. She was about to speak up when she saw the look in his eyes. It was how he looked at her, at first, and now it was directed at another.

Her heart hurt and bitterness arose inside of her. That girl had to be gone in a few days; she'd caused enough trouble already. Éponine took one last look around the bottom floor of the house to ensure that no walkers- or worse, members of the Valjean group- had infiltrated the house. Her search turned up nothing but darkness and dusty shadows.

That is, until she heard a noise dangerously close to the cellar hatch. Éponine gripped the kitchen knife that she kept in her belt for such a situation and she eased close to where the hatch was, no more than a shadow herself. No amount of sneaking would deter a walker, though. She took a deep breath before rounding the corner. Her back braced against the wall, she retrieved the knife from her belt and held it poised in front of her.

One hand reached for the light switch as she lunged for the cause of the noise. The fluorescents came on and illuminated a very human and very guilty figure bent over the cellar hatch.

"What." Éponine hissed with no limited amount of vitriolic tone. "Are. You. Doing."

The boy called Enjolras stood and faced her head-on. The light bounced off his long and dirty hair. Even beneath the grime on his skin and clothes, he shone like his own source of light in the side-room. He was tall; much taller than her, something that not many men managed. Éponine often detested her tall height, but now this man- no, _boy_- towered over her.

"You have walkers in your basement." He accused. She shrugged and pushed past him to double check that the locks had been placed in the correct position. At least the kid had enough brains to do that.

"They're a source of supplies." She mentioned. "If you need a key or summat, just lure one up, kill it, then pick it for all it's worth."

"You have a twisted way of going about things." Enjolras snorted. "Aren't you worried in the slightest that they could get out and eat you in your sleep?"

"If that ever happens," Éponine turned around to face that horribly captivating blue stare. "Y'all are in more danger than we are." She smirked. "The outside hatch has a weaker lock."

He rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the warning."

"Any time." She breezed past him again, pausing when she almost turned the bend. "Also, can I ask you something?"

He shrugged in response. She couldn't help but dully note that he made an impressive figure cut against the harsh light, his arms crossed and feet firmly stanced. He was too handsome to possibly be real, Éponine decided. His face was a strange mixture of pretty and chiseled, the way that a young man's beauty often is.

"Get the fuck out." She said, calmly.

"That wasn't a question." Enjolras shot back.

"Please?"

* * *

"Jean?" Fantine asked. Her husband looked up slowly and smiled at the woman in the doorway. Even when she was almost in her fifties, she still appeared as she had when they first met, herself barely thirty and he forty.

"Yes?" He asked her. She came close to him and kissed his lips sweetly.

"I thank God every day," She said against his mouth. "That you returned to us."

"Me as well." He stroked her face gently and she leaned against his touch. They'd long since put behind the few days following Valjean's 'death' where Fantine had turned to the police officer Javert for comfort. It had been a few months since his return, and Fantine had been nothing but the dutiful wife, barely leaving his side and constantly fussing over the bullet wound under his ribs.

"Marc will never admit it," She said as she moved away from him, "But he cried when we thought you were dead."

"You know he wants to be called Enjolras." Valjean tried to ignore the comforting pang in his heart.

Fantine tisked. "Young boys and their rebellious ways."

"He just wants to respect you, _ma Cherie_." Valjean insisted. "He was your son before he became my step son."

"Cosette thinks of you as her father." She sat down on their air mattress, the firm little thing that managed to stay intact while the others in their group had ripped holes and taped their mattresses ten times over (especially during Grantaire and Bahorel's short fling, in which their mattress got too torn up and deflated to be used ever again).

"She was younger when we wed."

"By three years!" Fantine always got upset when her eldest didn't think of Valjean as his father. He had been twelve when the wedding took place, while Cosette had been nine. Almost immediately, Cosette took up calling Valjean 'papa' while Enjolras stuck firmly to Valjean. It was around then that he demanded he be called by Fantine's maiden name.

"It is alright, love. He cares for his family in his own way." Valjean lay down beside her, taking care to brush a gray-streaked strand of blond over her ear.

"_Je t'aime_." Fantine murmured; it was a thing of theirs, to acknowledge their shared French roots. Fantine's mother was from France while Valjean was Haitian.

"_Je t'aime_."

* * *

"Would you _stop _that?" The voice came from behind Enjolras, almost startling him, but not quite. He kept his hand placed over the barn door.

"I'm observing my surroundings." He replied, cooly. Éponine snorted and slammed her hand next to his before pulling the dead bolt back through.

"You're being awfully sneaky about it." She leaned not-so-subtly against the door, raising her eyebrows as if daring him to try at it again. He ran a hand through his golden hair. The Georgia sun glinted off of it and sent little rays onto the wooden wall of the barn.

"You got more walkers in there?" Enjolras snapped. Éponine made a mock laughter noise in the very back of her throat and said nothing else. It was a pseudo peaceful moment, with the warm air pooling around them and the birds chirping in the distance. The two leaned against the barn like old friends, all while staring each other down with venom that would wound an enemy.

"How is she?" Enjolras asked, finally. Éponine looked at him a hard, long time before nodding to herself and fixing her eyes away from him and at some point in the distance.

"She's fine; she hasn't woken up though." Éponine sighed. "Looks like ya'll are gonna have to stay here for a while longer."

"Oh." Enjolras couldn't complain. Even though the hospitality was less than the southern stereotype, it was a good stronghold. The house was situated on a grassy hill with a good expanse of cleared land around it, leaving plenty of opportunities for spotting potential threats. The farmland was good; if someone could figure out how to actually plow and use it to its potential, a harvest would be plentiful. Since the population had been low before the world went to hell, not many walkers inhabited the area.

"That's all? No, 'thank you miss Thérnardier for your generous hospitality'?" Éponine snorted, but that mocking behavior was ripped from her when Enjolras took ahold of one of her hands and placed his lips on her knuckles in a lingering kiss.

He lifted his lips and looked at her intensely from under his mop of hair. "Thank you, _mademoiselle _Thérnardier, for your generous hospitality."

He kissed her hand one more time before turning and leaving a very confused Éponine with a burning in her stomach akin to absolutely nothing she'd ever experienced. She shook her head and tried to clear it. With the whole survival drama, her missing parents, and the strange absence of Marius's affections, Éponine had no time for pretty French boys.

She turned back to the barn and opened it slowly. When she spotted the cavernous, empty inside, she smirked.

If Enjolras thought he could find something on her, he had another thing coming.

* * *

Cosette could dimly feel someone touching her gently and sweetly. She sighed contentedly- there was a slight pain in her chest and head, but nothing too bad… Nothing that this gentle caress couldn't take away. Her eyes creaked open just a little bit to see the form of a young man bent over her. She caught a glimpse of shaggy, dark hair and a pale hand.

He was talking to her.

"Am I an awful person, Cosette?" He knew her name. "I can't believe that this is happening to me. We decided not to continue with things, but that doesn't mean that we stopped." He let out a labored sigh. "I don't want to hurt her anymore, you know? But you… The minute I saw you, there was something different."

She closed her eyes again and, if she had the energy, she would smile at his kind and loving words. Instead, she just let the cadence wash over her. Eventually, the hum of his voice lulled her back to sleep, a sleep much more peaceful than her unconscious state prior.

* * *

"Javert!"

The man who was being called winced and slowly turned to face the calling figure. Standing there was a young woman, no more than a girl. She was admittedly beautiful, with long, curly dark hair and warm skin. Her flush lips were almost always curled into a cat-like smile, and she continued applying make-up in the Egyptian way, 'embracing her heritage' even during the apocalypse.

"Where are you going?" She asked, sweetly. There was nothing about Anita Courfeyrac that was _not_ flirty, something that occasionally bothered Javert. She sidled up close to everyone, touching without consent and being, in general, far too sexual to handle.

"Out." He replied shortly. She hummed in the back of her throat.

"You should never go without a buddy, that's your rule, isn't it?" Courfeyrac teased, nudging Javert's shoulder as he tried to not look down her low-cut top. She was no more than a girl; it was rather inappropriate to think of her in any way other than a nuisance.

"I think I can handle myself."

"Well," She sighed dramatically and fake-swooned into the side of his truck. "Sue me for caring. So," She winked. "Where are we going?"

"_We_," Javert motioned between the two of them. "Are not going anywhere. _I_ am going… out."

"You're no fun." She pouted at him. He replied with silence and a started engine, pulling slowly onto the red-dirt road that led off the grounds of the plantation. In the wake of his back wheels, a cloud of red rose behind him, revealing the staggering figure of a walker. Courfeyrac didn't hesitate before taking the pistol from its place by her hipbones and firing it straight through the fucker's brains.

"Nice shot." A boy called. She turned to see a kid with dirty blond hair and tan skin glancing up at her with a crooked-toothed grin. His blue eyes sparkled. "I'm Gavroche."

"Courfeyrac." She bent down to be at his level and looked at him under scrutiny. "How old are you, Gavroche?"

"Twelve." He answered. Courfeyrac closed her eyes and tried- and failed- to not imagine a little dark-skinned girl with eyes like coal who was that age when Courfeyrac failed to save her from an oncoming hoard. "What about you, pretty lady?" The kid clumsily winked, drawing Courfeyrac from the onslaught of unwelcome memories.

"Twenty-four, and far too old for you. Is your sister the one who owns the palce?" Courfeyrac asked.

"Nah, it's _me_ who runs this town." He thought about it for a moment, a look that Courfeyrac recognized all too well as that belonging to a youth debating whether to tell the truth in the aftermath of a white lie. "Actually it's our good for nothin' parents. I dunno where they went, but good riddance." He spit on the ground for emphasis, and Courfeyrac smiled.

The kid was cool, the place was nice, and the people were hot. She could most certainly live with this.

"So," She said, trying not to sound creepy (it was _hard_ to _not_ flirt; she didn't want to give a twelve year old kid any ideas). "Who all's picked up safety here?"

"Well," Gavroche rolled his tongue in his mouth for a few moments before reaching some sort of agreement with himself. "There's the five Thérnardier kids, of course. That would be me, my brothers and my sisters. I got Greg, he's four, and Dom, he's nine. Then there's 'Zelma, she's sixteen or so," When he received a strange look from Courfeyrac, he shrugged and grinned wickedly. "I don't really pay attention. Then 'Ponine's… I dunno, seventeen or eighteen."

"I got a sister, too." Courfeyrac commented, absentmindedly. When Gavroche's eyes lit up, she playfully hit him on the back of his head. "Calm your dick, kid, she's like eight."

"She could go with Dom, then." Gavroche mused. Courfeyrac hid her scarlet-lipped smirk. Oh, yes. She and Gavroche would get along _quite_ well. "Annnyyywaaay, we also got Gueulemer, he's not much of a talker. He came in with 'Parnasse, who's nineteen. Then we got Marius, 'Ponine's boyfriend." Gavroche counted off on his fingers. "Without my parents, that's just about all of us."

"Wait, your hot sister's got a boyfriend?" Courfeyrac felt a twinge of disappointment. Gavroche raised his eyebrows a little bit.

"You swing that way?"

"Kid, you got a lot to learn. I swing either way, I swing _all_ ways." Courfeyrac winked- it was one of her many talents, and she was one of those who tried to show off at all times. You never know who you could impress. "But that's not why I'm upset. See, when she and Enjolras made eye contact last night, the sexual tension was too thick to cut with a _knife_."

"…You're worried about sexual tension in a time like this?" Gavroche indicated the mostly peaceful farmland but for a single, meandering walker that was coming slow enough that Courfeyrac could easily get her bejeweled knife out and spin it in her fingers before throwing it with practiced accuracy. The gray-skinned woman walker with the nametag 'Huchelop' collapsed to her once-fat knees, her brains bashed in with Courfeyrac's perfect throw. The girl in question stepped forward and put a booted foot close to where the knife was buried in the corpse's head and pulled, yanking the weapon out with a slurping sound.

"And anyway," Gavroche continued, "Ew" He shivered. "I do _not_ want to think of my sister and anything… _sex_ related."

"Hey, she'd be lucky." For a moment, Courfeyrac forgot who she was talking to. "He's a good lay."

"Dude!" Gavroche cried. "I'll never be able to look at the guy the same ever again!"

Courfeyrac just laughed. She missed this; being able to hang around someone without feeling the constant pressure of maintaining her reputation- one that was not very pleasant in the minds of those around her before the world went to hell, but was now quite welcome by most. She was willing to share anyone's bed without strings attached. So this little blue-eyed kid was a welcome change.

_Maybe that's what this place will be_, She thought. _Just a big- and welcome- change._

* * *

After the third day or so, Éponine and Enjolras fell into a habit. He would be snooping around his temporary camp, and she would catch him and smile with barely-concealed venom until he finally left things be. In a way, she began to look forward to their meetings, for they were a distraction from Marius's constant companionship to the unconscious Cosette.

It only took a few more meetings before they began to actually talk. At first it was about their various experiences- Éponine didn't realize how _easy _she had it until she heard Enjolras's story.

"I went to college in Atlanta." He told her. "SCAD had a campus there." When he saw her lost expression, he chuckled. "Web design, if it's that important to you. Anyway, when things first started getting bad, a lot of people tried to get into the city. So, by that reasoning, it was only logical to get the fuck _away_. I met mom, Cosette, and Jean a short ways out of the city. I convinced some of my frat brothers- it's not that strange, _stop laughing_- to come with me… That would be Bahorel, Combeferre, Bossuet, Joly and Jehan. Jehan's friends with Grantaire, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac were kids together, so that's how Courf and her sister got with our group. Feuilly is Bahorel's kid cousin. Then there's Mabeuf- I don't even remember how he got there, he just was there one day. Javert's an old friend. Then, obviously there's my family. Except for Jean." Enjolras frowned for a moment. "When all this shit started, we thought he was dead.

"We stayed in the woods for a good long time. One day, Combeferre and Bahorel returned from a mission with 'an old guy, but he's strong we swear!'." Enjolras laughed to himself. "That was Jean… He woke up from his coma one day and they found him wandering nearby the hospital. My mom was so happy, but Javert wasn't. She'd… uh… turned to him for _comfort, _per sae. And once my step father was back, she threw Javert behind her. There were a lot of others in the group too." Enjolras looked away from her, as if it hurt to remember. "We were happy for a while… We were in tents and we had bonfires. It just felt like a giant camp out. Then… One day we were overrun. We lost half of our people.

"We've been on the run ever since. We've lost some others along the way, but we've got each other. In a cruel way, the losses make us stronger. The fact that we're survivors, it binds us together." Enjolras sighed. "It's not a good thing, but it's _something._ How about you guys?"

"Nothing half as bad." Éponine supplied. They began to walk around the premises, finding their way into the garden. Autumn was approaching, coating the ground in a thick layer of crunchy leaves and heavy dew that made the debris like a carpet. The flowers, though, were still enough in bloom to give beauty to their walk.

"I lived on a property just down the way… That means a good few miles out here. My parents.. They… Uh… Essentially killed old Guillemond and his daughter. I barely managed to save Marius. My mom was fine with the excuse that he was my boyfriend, whereas dad realized that he needed labor in case we got attacked." She shrugged. "We came across another group, bought Montparnasse and Gueulemer for some cans of food… I don't know what else to say."

"Javert said that when he came in with Cosette and Jean…" Enjolras motioned with his hands helplessly. Éponine nodded.

"Yeah. I said we didn't go through anything half as bad. I think that walkers are a hell of a lot worse than being knocked around by a living man."

"When you say 'knocked around'-" Enjolras began, but Éponine cleared her throat.

"Can we _please_ not turn this into a heart-to-heart? Thanks. I've got to go check on Cosette." She turned on her heel and sprinted away, leaving a laughing Enjolras. The eldest Thérnardier was certainly something. He decided after a while to follow her, but he walked languidly and with a certain appreciation for the peacefulness of the farm. It was easy, in times like those, to forget that the Thérnardiers kept a basement full of walkers.

He nearly ran into two figures standing by the white gate woven through with roses. His mother was talking to Éponine, whose face was, for once, open and kind-looking.

"I insist, please." Fantine was saying. "It's the least we can do."

"Really, it's all 'Parnasse's fault, so this is the least _we _can do. But if you really want to-" Éponine was cut off by the woman throwing her arms around the girl and squeezing tightly. After a few moments, Éponine embraced her back and Enjolras snuck away before either of them noticed him.

* * *

Cosette was dimly aware of someone prodding her chest, where the area was suspiciously numb. Suddenly, a particularly rough poke drew a sharp pain and she cried out, her eyes snapping open. Leaning over her was a Hispanic girl with sharp features and a sour face.

"You're awake."

"Where…" Cosette found her throat unnaturally dry. "Where am I? Who are you? What happened?"

The girl made a noise in the back of her throat like humming- something that sounded like she was mocking Cosette. "You were shot, I'm Éponine, and you and your little group are trespassing on _my_ land." Éponine spared her a tense smile. "Does that cover everything for you?"

"I-I-I think so." Cosette was too tired to be confused- she was really too tired to feel much of anything. She sank back into the pillows with a low groan. "God, how many times was I shot?"

"Once, but there were three pieces of the bullet. It barely even broke skin so you can calm your tits." Éponine handed Cosette a white capsule and a glass of clear water- something she hadn't had in a long time. She swallowed the pill and chased it down by chugging the contents of the glass. As she did, she heard Éponine go to the doorway and call into the hallway.

"Cosette's awake!"

Almost immediately, Cosette heard the shrill voice of her mother and Fantine rushed into the room and to Cosette's side, caressing her daughter's face and kissing her cheeks with tenderness. Cosette smiled and leaned into Fantine's touch. Almost immediately behind her mother were her papa and Enjolras, the former of which reacted very similarly to Fantine. Enjolras walked more slowly, but when he finally got to her, he broke and threw his arms around her in a tight embrace that she hadn't felt from him since they were children.

"Ow, Enjolras!" She teased, but he didn't sense her joking tone and pulled away immediately, apologizing profusely. Then Cosette noticed Enjolras do something very strange. He stood up straight and turned to Éponine, who was watching the proceedings with a silent satisfaction not unknown to those in the medical practices when they succeed. Her brother exchanged a long- _meaningful_, Cosette noted with some glee- look with the girl before speaking so quietly that Cosette was unsure that Éponine would be able to hear him.

"Thank you." He said. Éponine spared a smile to him, Cosette saw how such a small change lit her up from the inside. If the girl wasn't already pretty, she was beautiful while smiling.

Cosette was almost positive that Enjolras was thinking something along the same lines.

* * *

"Azelma, look at me." Éponine commanded. The teenager reluctantly turned her face to her sister, but didn't look her in the eye. "Have you been taking your medication?" The silence was enough of an answer.

"What's the point anymore?" Azelma whispered. Éponine paused from rummaging in the drawer for the missing bottle of pills. "This is hell, we _deserve_ this. And that means that we don't deserve any better."

"Don't say that, 'Zelma, _please_." She begged her sister. Éponine's hand stroked the side of her face and wiped away a lone tear that trickled from the corner of the girl's eye. The sunlight that came through Azelma's window did nothing to lighten the atmosphere. It was as if Azelma was surrounded by a little cloud of despair.

It had been sudden- shortly after Cosette woke up and the two group's shared dinner. Azelma was helping wash the dishes with Grantaire when she collapsed, her dark eyes rolling to the back of her head and Grantaire's foot catching the back of her head before it slammed to the lineum floor. It was as if Azelma just gave up and lost the will to live.

It hurt Éponine that her baby sister felt that way; even more so because Éponine had a selfish desire to survive no matter the cost. Éponine suddenly thought of something and began moving aside Azelma's clothing to look at her arms and neck.

"You weren't bit, were you?" Éponine felt Azelma's head with her hand, only for the girl to shake her head in response. "Would you tell me if you were?"

"If I were," Azelma's voice seemed just as dead as her spirit. "It would give me a reason to just kill myself."

Éponine's hand acted of its own accord and the resounding sound of the slap filled the room. "_Don't say that_." She hissed. Feeling angry with herself and with Azelma, she stalked from the room, but not before making sure that Feuilly came to relieve her. The youngest Thérnardier girl had to be put under a _god damn suicide watch_.

Éponine ran into Enjolras in the hallway, and he nearly dropped the custard he was eating (Fantine and Jehan had taken over the kitchen and Éponine couldn't complain in the slightest). She apologized under her breath.

"Éponine, look at me," He grabbed her upper arm and she felt compelled to. When she did, he nodded as if satisfied. "Good."

"Good what?" She snorted. He only managed part of a fake smile.

"You don't have that look in your eye." Was all he said. She knew well enough what he meant, and thanked him silently for knowing to not be so obvious about it.

"She… She was talking about how being bit would give her an excuse to die." Éponine laughed bitterly. "I wouldn't let her, even then."

"Would you let me?" He asked, suddenly. It had been a few weeks since Cosette had officially woken up, and several days since the Valjean group made permanent settlement on the plantation grounds. In that time, Enjolras and Éponine's routine continued. The damn boy was too curious for his own good, but his presence was more and more welcome as she got to know him better. She knew the inflections in his voice, and she could read him like an open book through his passionate, icy-blue eyes.

He was half trying to distract her from Azelma, and half sincerely wondering.

She played dumb anyway. "What?"

"Would you wait for me to turn if I got bit, or could I trust you to kill me and save me from the infection?" He asked. Éponine felt a pull in her heart; she didn't know if she and Enjolras were quite friends- if they were, they weren't _best_ friends, but the thought of a walker getting its hands on him was enough to strongly unsettle her.

"Yes." She finally managed. "You can trust me."

It wasn't the answer he was looking for, so he simply stared her down until she gave in. "Fine. I'll… kill.. you if you get bit."

Satisfied, he released her. In their strange bonding moment, neither of them realized the noises coming from Azelma's open door; noises that sounded like comfort in the most physical way. Azelma finally found her way of coping in a strange little orphan girl who liked art.

* * *

"I thought I might find you here." Montparnasse commented. Éponine resisted rolling her eyes.

"Where else? This is _my_ bedroom, after all." She settled back on her pillows and looked at her friend with tired eyes. "What do you want?"

"To talk, that's all. You seem… out of things lately. Especially with Marius." Montparnasse watched as Éponine's purposely ignored his question. A grin, greedy for gossip spread across his face.

"Oh, _do_ tell." He said to her. Éponine glared at him.

"Why would I tell you of all people?" She snapped. He laughed at her and leaned beside her in the touchy-touchy way that Montparnasse tended to go about things.

"Because love interests me; it is the greatest fashion of all, and the shiniest thing amongst all the jewels." Montparnasse said. When Éponine stared at his use of delicate prose, he flushed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Is it obvious now who I have a thing for?"

"_Jehan_? You're gay?" Éponine asked. Montparnasse shrugged against her shoulders. One of his hands moved to trail up her thigh, and she found that she didn't care enough to move it.

"Don't be so narrow minded, 'Ponine. I'm also into Grantaire." Montparnasse said conversationally. His fingers drummed dangerously high and his other arm snaked around to grab her around the waist. She felt uncomfortable with him touching her like that, but at the same time the physical association was welcome after being without it for so long. Cosette had stolen Marius's heart, and in a way stole him from Éponine.

"Marius and I-" She gasped when Montparnasse nibbled on her neck. "We're basically over but not _officially_, you know? He's got- _damn_- Cosette and I've got…"

She trailed off and allowed Montparnasse to work his cherry lips up to her jaw bone and then to her lips. "Who've you got, 'Ponine?"

"No one." She admitted. "I have no one."

"I'll be gentle," It was a random promise from him as he kissed her soundly on the lips before nipping at the corner of her mouth.

Montparnasse's hand reached for the waistband of her pajama pants and pulled them down to her knees. His clothing followed shortly after. Montparnasse, she had to admit, was a very good kisser, if a little sloppy. And he was fairly gentle when touching her, but when one of his hands cupped her breast, she realized what she was doing.

"No, _stop_, 'Parnasse-" He kissed her to shut her up, and her arms were too tired to push him away. He roughly pushed into her and she screamed against his mouth- he tore her hymen with that horrid thrust… She and Marius had never gone that far.

Montparnasse took her, ignoring her protestations until he came inside of her, never noticing that she never got close to finishing. He rolled off of her and laid down beside her on the bed. His eyes were drooping with fatigue, so he didn't hear her quiet cursing of him- he was the bastard who didn't know what 'stop' meant.

Éponine left her room in a flurry, trying to regain her bearings. She opened the back door of the plantation with a loud bang, forgetting about the other inhabitants of the house. Éponine remembered the little spot on the creek where she, Marius and Azelma used to play as children. It seemed like as good a place as any to make herself feel clean again.

The woods embraced her with their shadows and she slipped through the trees without a sound. Her feet knew how to tread on the crackling forest floor without crunching, and her body knew how to avoid trees and roots as a second nature.

It didn't take long to find it- a little bank strewn with wildflowers and quartz. The creek burbled close by, and Éponine's tired legs nearly allowed her to lie down on the cool sand. Instead, she found a boulder and sat atop it after brushing away a trail of ants.

The gentle noise of water on rocks and the sound of the breeze in the branches lulled her into a state of calm- that is until she heard a yell from nearby. A yell that belonged to a voice that she knew all too well. Éponine leapt to her feet and ran, clutching her knife close to herself.

Sure enough, she found Enjolras in a tussle with a walker in a clearing washed through with moonlight. Another two were approaching him, and Éponine's heart throbbed painfully. She couldn't let him get hurt; she could never live with herself if she did.

She threw a stone and it knocked one of the creatures in the head. It turned to her slowly and began to stagger towards Éponine. She braced her knife, and when it stumbled within her range, she brought down the slash with a pent-up rage only available to the victim of what they believe to be unrequited love. The next one was handled by Enjolras- he'd gotten rid of the one on top of him, and his fist took out the brains of the final one.

Éponine was heaving with the rewarding joy of victory. So much that she didn't notice Enjolras's hand gently laying on her shoulder until he was forcing something inside her hand. She looked down and saw how the moon and stars reflected off of the shiny metal of the gun. Confused, she turned around.

Enjolras was kneeling on the forest floor, one hand clutched to his bleeding neck and his shoulders slumped hopelessly forward.

"You promised."

* * *

**Reviews *might* make for a happy ending :)**


	3. In Which There Is No Foreshadowing

Her mouth was dry and her breath felt like sand running down her throat. The lazy wind barely stirred anything, and the moment felt like it was hanging on a string. It was colored blue and silver, and it was the spots of the stars reflected in both his eyes and on the surface of the gun held loosely in her hand. The moment tasted like a desert and autumn all at once, tinged with the metallic taste of blood.

"I can't…" She whispered. The gun fell from her hand and hit the leaf-crusted ground. When she met his eyes again, he was hurt by her refusal and her inability to stick to her word. A moonbeam caught a gleam in his belt, and there she saw a clean knife. An idea began to form in the recesses of her mind. "I can't kill you, Enjolras. Can you understand?"

"Yes," He looked down at the ground and continued applying pressure to his bleeding wound. "Can you at least give me the gun?" When she stayed in place, he started to reach for it. Panic surged through Éponine and she kicked it as far away.

"What the hell?" He snapped. She could tell that he was far more scared than he would ever let on.

"I'm a Thérnardier, and we never keep promises." She told him, before throwing herself at Enjolras. He stumbled and fell spread-eagled to the ground, his arms splayed out on either side of his body and his neck stretched in the light for Éponine to see. The infected flesh was black, bleeding a different shade of red than a miscellaneous cut on his sculpted collarbone.

She adjusted herself quickly, reaching down to slip his clean knife into her hand. Her knees kept his forearms pinned to the ground, and she sat firmly on his chest. Before getting to work, she desperately grasped either side of his face in her hands.

"I'm sorry," She felt her eyes wet and cursed them for their weakness. Enjolras's face appeared masked by illness; his eyes were glassy and almost cloudy, and she barely managed to get him to look at her before she let his head fell back to the ground. He was motionless underneath her.

Breathing heavily and trying to bypass her tight throat, Éponine brought the knife to her friend's neck and began to saw at the skin around the bite mark. She dug the knife into the muscle, and felt a twinge of relief when the knife brought about normally colored blood. She used it as a spoon, and when Enjolras moaned in pain, causing the knife to vibrate in her hand, she prayed, _Dear God, please let him not have turned yet._

Eventually, Éponine carved a chunk out of Enjolras's neck until she could see no sign of the infection inside of him. But he hadn't moved or made a sound in far too long. Panic taking hold once again, she ripped her relatively clean shirt and used it to quell the bleeding from the deeper injury caused by her.

"Enjolras?" She asked quietly as she pressed the cloth bundle against his neck. "Enjolras?" She received no response, and stumbled off of him only to collapse with her back against a nearby tree, his still body clear in her sight. His blood pooled around his head and wet his shirt and her hands- oh, god, her hands were stained scarlet.

Éponine dropped the knife that she was sure killed him. It didn't take away the blood on her hands- both metaphorical and literal. Shaking like the leaves on the trees, she finally broke and began to cry. It wasn't the pretty crying that Azelma tended to do; Éponine's entire body bent forward with the force of the sobs that wracked her quivering form. The gasping in her throat was the only noise emitted, but it was loud, and if it mattered anymore, she would worry about walkers. The tears fell with no control, no matter how much she squinched her eyes tightly together.

She tried to wipe her face with her hands, forgetting about the red and as a result covering her face in watery scarlet fingerprints. She couldn't function or even look at Enjolras. It was _her_ fault. She knew, somehow, that he'd only been in the woods to follow her. Her reason for running seemed so small now, compared to this. And she now knew why it hurt to tell Montparnasse that she had no one.

She _did_ have Enjolras. Not in the way she wanted him, maybe, but in a way that allowed them to be together. They were friends- they understood each other. And now…

He began to moan, a low sound that curved the space between them. His fingertips clutched almost sweetly at the air. A leaf, blown about by the wind, brushed over his face, where his cheek twitched. With a heavy heart, Éponine started to reach for the gun. She had no choice, now. She wouldn't kill him when he was alive, but when he became a walker everything changed.

Her back was to him when she heard it. The sound was soft and nearly lost to the wind. It was almost lost to the girl with the gun, too. Except for the fact that her heart had been broken over never hearing it from him ever again.

The sound was a collection of syllables, something that, as the reader should know, is a name. A specific name, in fact.

"Éponine."

* * *

Fantine's hand shook as she looked down at the little screen on the stick that she held. Having done this in the middle of the night meant that she could react how she wanted to without worrying of others finding out. How could she be so careless? Just because she was getting old didn't mean that she'd gone through menopause yet.

And now she was going to be _that_ woman. The one that brought a baby into this world. She put the test back into the box and closed it, trying to hold back tears. Valjean would notice in the morning if her face was red and puffy. She couldn't have him know; she was positive it was his child, but he would be delighted. For all that they loved Enjolras and Cosette, they'd been trying for a child of their own since their marriage ten years prior.

She took a roundabout path back to the tent where she and her husband slept. On the way, she passed Combeferre who was sitting watch. The boy jumped down from his place on top of Enjolras's red truck. He was the one who had gone to the store with Courfeyrac to get her the test. And if he returned with a few poorly-concealed hickeys and mussed hair, Fantine said nothing as long as he remembered the test.

"Are you?" He asked. She bit down on her lip and nodded. He smiled widely. "Congratulations!"

"How could I do this, though? I'm bringing an innocent human being into this hell!" She exclaimed as loudly as she could without rising her voice above a whisper. "As much as I love my children, they tend to come at the worst times."

"Do you want me to see if I can get something to help... Pills, alcohol?" Combeferre spoke haltingly, but Fantine understood him clearly. She shook her head and laid a motherly hand on his cheek.

"No, not yet. I need to think about it. But thank you." She kissed his cheek and moved past him to continue on her walk. It was then that she saw a thickly-built figure walking in an unsteady line across the grounds. Fantine sighed. Really, the apocalypse was quite infuriating.

"Combeferre!" She called. He was soon right behind her, nodding kindly.

"I've got it." He aimed his rifle, blinking several times in succession. Fantine felt awful; she knew how killing even one walker was hard on the kind-hearted Combeferre. Jehan as well, but he kept himself away from potential threats so he wouldn't have to deal with it.

He squeezed the trigger, and the gunshot was followed by a yelp from the shadowy figure. A familiar and strained voice rang out, "Watch it, will you?"

"Éponine?" Combeferre put down the gun and peered into the darkness. It was obvious that she was struggling with something almost more than twice her size. Fantine exchanged a look with Combeferre before Éponine fell down and called for help, using a name that put all Fantine's troubles with her unborn child to the back of her mind.

"I need help! It's Enjolras!"

"NO!" Fantine screamed and ran to her eldest. She almost fell over her son where he lay beside Éponine. His eyes were open just barely and lazily rolling in his head. His chest was rising in uneven breaths and his skin was pale, too pale.

"He was bit," Éponine said quietly. Fantine's head snapped up. Those three words were the same ones that worried her from the first moment that the television crews began to report on the walking dead. She _never_ wanted to hear that statement spoken in relation with her children.

"There's no hope, then." Combeferre's voice was thick and final. It was thus that he was caught off guard by Éponine's breezy laughter.

"Not quite. I think… I think I found a way to bypass infection through injury." Éponine mentioned casually. "But first we need to get him inside and tie him up," When Combeferre responded with a sad little noise, she added hastily, "Just in case, that is."

"Let's get him in, then." Combeferre bent down to help Éponine lift Enjolras by his armpits. Fantine appeared unable to move, her hand still tightly grasping Enjolras's.

"Mom?" He moaned. Fantine finally let the tears fall, and she squeezed her baby boy's hand before whispering to him.

"I'm here."

* * *

"I'm worried about her." Gavroche confessed. He and Courfeyrac were on watch; officially it was just Courfeyrac, but Gavroche trailed her there in the throes of his puppy love. The two of them shared peanut butter sandwiches cut in fourths (the _only_ way to correctly eat them, according to Gavroche.)

"Why do you say that?" Courfeyrac asked through a full mouth. She quickly chased the wheaty mush in her mouth with a gulp of homemade lemonade, courtesy of Cosette and Feuilly. The sun burned her skin, but she was aware enough of her body to know how much sun she could handle before she would burn. This autumn sunshine was _nothing_.

"She's acting… weird. Especially with the whole Enjolras thing. Plus, she and Marius haven't spent any time together at _all_. It's like… They're avoiding each other. But, Marius spends time with Cosette…" Gavroche sighed. "It's just so confusing. I don't want to deal with all that."

"To be morbid, maybe you won't have to. I had another sister your age, you know…" She shook her head; today was a good day and _not_ the time to dwell on a girl who was probably among the walkers now. "Anyway, this _is _confusing, you're right. Do you want me to explain it to you, kid?"

"_Please_." Gavroche said. "And stop calling me kid."

"Well," Courfeyrac began. "When a boy and girl love each other very much…"

"OH GOD NO, I DON'T WANT TO HEAR THIS _AGAIN_!" Gavroche nearly shouted, clasping his hands over his ears. Courfeyrac laughed whole-heartedly, throwing her head back and ignoring the bits of food that fell from her mouth. It was so good to be comfortable.

"I'm just messing with you, I swear." She insisted. Gavroche nervously rested his hands back in his lap and listened intensely. "Now, I don't know for sure, but from what I can tell, Marius and Éponine are exes, right? And then these siblings come in, and, to be frank, they're both hot. Marius has possibly the biggest crush on Cosette I've ever seen, have you seen the way he waits on her hand and foot even though she's got back full range of motion? So _that_'s happening. I think Éponine knows it to, so it hurts her that she feels like a second choice."

"Why, though? She and Marius broke up." Gavroche looked utterly confused; Courfeyrac's great retelling of the current love web was going right over his head.

"Let me finish, okay? So, she feels like a second choice because she and Cosette are so different, and Marius is just _so_ into Cosette, that she'll feel self-conscious, like she was never what Marius wanted." Courfeyrac assured Gavroche, "Don't worry, I'm pretty sure that it's a girl thing. And, in the midst of all of that shit, she and Enjolras are dancing circles around each other. She's tough, but it's still pretty plain that she's worried about him. We all are."

The last little bit was quiet, and Courfeyrac subtly looked back at the house and the window to the room where Enjolras was lying and- hopefully- recovering. On the porch, it looked like Fantine and Valjean were having a serious conversation. She was motioning wildly while crying and he was sitting with his head in his hands.

"Enjolras is better than Marius." Gavroche said, suddenly. "I like Marius and all, but not with my sister, you know? She and Enjolras, though…"

"They'd be a hot couple." Courfeyrac agreed. "Think of what the sex will be like!"

"EW STOP." Gavroche cried. "And _will_? Isn't that pushing it a little bit?"

Courfeyrac thought back to the night Enjolras was carried inside and the way that Éponine tried to hide her crushed face. If he didn't make the night, she would blame herself, and even when it was clear that he wasn't in danger of turning anymore, she rarely was calm.

"No," Courfeyrac said with finality. "I don't think it is."

* * *

"Now listen here, bitches." Grantaire began. In front of her stood just about everyone except Azelma (who still was not trusted around deadly weapons), Jehan, Valjean, Montparnasse, Fantine and Éponine. The latter was on her way, having to perform a pregnancy check up for the Valjean couple before coming to Grantaire's 'lesson', where she and Javert were going to teach the lot of them how to shoot with better accuracy.

"To shoot, you've got to know the recoil of your gun, plus the weight of the bullets and the gun itself. You've got to take all of that into account, okay? If you don't, you'll be as bad as Combeferre." Grantaire winked at her friend to let him know that she was kidding.

A car sounded on the nearby road, followed by a slamming door and running feet. Éponine came into the clearing where the rest of them were. She smiled at Grantaire and Javert, "Sorry I'm late! And-"

The smile melted right off her face when she saw one particular person standing amongst those learning. Her eyes narrowed; she sent all her energy towards Enjolras in her most intense death stare. He cleared his throat and left the structured line where they stood (Javert's doing, not Grantaire's). He took Éponine by the elbow gently and led her far enough away that the others wouldn't hear them. In the near distance, Enjolras could hear the lesson resuming.

"You should be in bed, Enjolras. You almost _died_!" She insisted. He was touched that the main element in her stare was actually worry for him rather than anger with his disobedient nature.

"But I didn't. Thanks to _you_. Éponine," Enjolras shifted uncomfortably. "If…. If I'm helpless again, I want to know how to shoot from a down position. Especially if you're in danger," He ignored her flattered flush. "I can't live with myself if I let you die."

"So now you get it? Why I couldn't shoot you?" She asked. He looked down for a moment before meeting her eyes again.

"Yeah." His voice was husky. She smiled sadly and brought up what she didn't want to that day, but something that had to be said.

"Can you promise me something?" She asked, trying to be casual. Enjolras nodded slowly.

"Yes, of course."

"Will you promise me that you won't try to save me if it comes to it?" Éponine asked. Enjolras jerked away from her as if she'd insulted him.

"You _can't_ ask me to do that, Éponine…. I can't… I won't." He told her. She didn't move from her place. Eventually he looked at her again, and when he did she continued.

"That's how you can repay me. If I get bit or badly hurt in any way, I want _you_ to end my suffering. No one else." She said, grimly. He groaned.

"Why me?"

"Because," She smirked and stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "You owe me."

"Fine." He said. She raised her eyebrows. She wanted him to say the two words that would seal it, because Marc Enjolras was a man of his word. He nervously cleared his throat and just barely managed to say, "I promise."

* * *

**So this chapter was going to be a _lot_ longer, but since last update was heavy on the drama I decided that you guys need this. And, also, because of people getting emotional, I changed the ending for the next chapter. Originally, this last little bit was going to be foreshadowing, and then I decided to not kill 'Ponine because that's cruel. Since I cut the chapter off early, (among other reasons) this might end up being up to ten chapters... IT MUTATED. I have major word vomit with this... It'll probably be done by Sunday, but i don't know. **

**Don't forget to review! :)**

**(Also, does anyone else agree that the world needs more femme!feyrac?)**

**Next chapter will have awkward smutty smut (only awkward because I'm me and have no experience... Given my age that's probably a good thing).**


	4. In Which Gloves Are Given

**Eh. I don't like this chapter at alllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllll and no smut sorry i'm a dirty little liar. Also, reviews are dropping, so don't forget to say something (literally anything).  
**

**And you, sassy guest reviewer who referenced my tumblr tag, _i like you_.**

* * *

"Any ideas, Enjolras?" Fantine asked. Enjolras looked away from where he was keeping watch on Éponine to make sure that she didn't walk in on the conversation. The teenage girl was in sight of the window; if Enjolras moved the curtain just slightly to the side, she was clearly in view.

"No. Make her a cake or something? She likes food." He suggested lamely. Gavroche rolled his eyes.

"Literally _ever_y_one_ likes food. I thought you guys were close or whatever." The kid scoffed. "Is she on her way back in yet?"

"I'm watching her, calm down Gavroche. And just because she saved my life doesn't mean that we're best friends." Enjolras snapped. He turned his attention back to the window. A lone bug buzzed in between the screen and the window pane. The few slivers of light from the windows reached into the night, lighting Éponine's hair on fire and displaying to Enjolras how the strands blew about in the lazy night wind.

"I actually think she'll like the cake idea. Even before… _this_, our parents weren't too caring. I don't think she's ever really had a birthday celebration other than… Well…" Azelma trailed off as she looked awkwardly at Marius, remembering how Éponine was nearly driven to tears by his gift of a cupcake with a candle and a small twine bracelet that she'd long since lost.

"Yeah. Let's plan on making her a cake and maybe we can go out into the town in groups to get her gifts?" Fantine suggested. The others nodded and Enjolras soon zoned out, not really caring much of the groups picked. That is, until he heard his name mentioned briefly by Marius.

"…Enjolras and Cosette?"

"What was that?" Enjolras asked. Cosette, sitting next to him, rested her hand comfortably on his knee.

"They don't trust us to go into town, being the invalids we are." She winked at him. "Marius was just insisting that everyone goes together except for us."

"No," Enjolras said, slowly. "I have to get her something."

"And why, pray tell, is that?" Courfeyrac wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and most of the room covered their mouths in laughter when Enjolras's cheeks turned a certain strange color of pink.

"I just… have to, okay?" Enjolras shrugged, still trying to push down the anger that literally everyone in the room appeared to be thinking something that he wasn't. Fantine shook her head in her son's general direction, attempting to simultaneously send everyone in the room a warning stare.

"No, I think that it's best if you and Cosette stay behind." She said, causing the siblings to groan.

"Mom!"

"It's final. We'll go in groups of two or three throughout the week. Her birthday is the twenty fifth, no?" When her question was positively affirmed by the younger Thérnardiers, she continued. "And is anyone willing to bring Enjolras or Cosette, both potentially careless, with them?"

Nobody responded, much to Enjolras's chagrin. He glared at his mother, "Marius is just as '_potentially careless_' as we are. Why don't the three of us just go together?"

"Together where?" Éponine asked. Everyone's heads snapped towards her, sending her stumbling backwards in surprise.

"Oh just on a run at the end of the week or something." Grantaire answered casually, taking a big gulp from a bottle of rum. Courfeyrac took the bottle from her and similarly took a swig, which, if anything, made their case more believable by acting as always.

"Okay, sure. As long as you two have someone else, I think you'll be okay." Éponine shrugged. "Combeferre, you take the watch."

The room began to buzz, broken from their planning mode by the arrival of the very person about which they were speculating. Éponine was pulled aside by Feuilly and Azelma to talk about something that sent her head back in a deep laugh. Enjolras was captivated by her; the way that her crying was quiet while her laughs were loud. She was just a contradictory being, one that never ceased to fascinate him.

He moved to retire to the guest bedroom that he and Cosette now shared. On the way, he snagged Fantine by the arm and murmured to her, "Mom, I'm going."

Her blue eyes sparkled and she kissed him sweetly on the cheek before nodding with a wink. "Just wanted to make sure that you knew you had to."

* * *

"He's not that much help." Enjolras complained. "Really, we probably would have done better on our own."

The siblings watched as Marius, a baseball bat clutched tightly in his hand, kept swinging at a particularly slow walker- missing every time and jumping away after each failed swing. Thankfully, the parking lot was mostly empty. Enjolras and Cosette had taken out enough of the animated corpses that a small circle of motionless bodies surrounded them, while the single walker that Marius insisted he was going to kill kept dancing around the poor, incapable boy.

The day was starting to get cool, the way that the southern weather tended to only do in early November. It was still October, but the day seemed to have decided on a sky painted through with gray and a wind shot with chills. The pavement was cool under Enjolras's calves, and Cosette had actually resorted to sitting with her knees to her chest because she felt it to be too cold to rest her thighs on.

Finally, Marius's bat hit the temple of the creature, its grayish skin taking more of the blow than its brains, for only a small indent was made and the force knocked it to the ground, where it squirmed and hissed through its decomposing teeth. Marius raised the bat high above his head and brought it down hard enough to splatter blood and brains over the pavement and his shirt.

"He means well," Cosette insisted kindly. She stood with grace and took calculated steps over the walkers to Marius. She asked him something softly, accompanied by a sweet smile that Cosette had long since perfected. Enjolras watched as his sister gently brushed off Marius's shoulder in an affectionate way before the couple parted, Marius heading inside the little convenience store and Cosette back to her brother.

"You've got him wrapped around your finger." Enjolras commented wryly.

"God, sometimes you sound like such an old man." Cosette teased. "You say the most old-fashioned things."

A random wrapper flew in the wind; some seasonally themed candy for something that occurred little more than a year prior. Enjolras stopped it with the toe of his boot and retrieved the worn-through plastic that very nearly crumbled in his fingers.

"Halloween Reeses." He told his sister. "You used to love these, remember?"

"I still do," She laughed. "Or, I would if they hadn't all expired by now. It's hard to believe that we used to sell this stuff months before it actually happened. Like, this piece of candy was probably on sale in September, but it's October themed."

"We're a stranger species." Enjolras smirked. "Remember Black Fridays?"

"Don't remind me!" Cosette giggled. "I swear that some of those crowds were worse than hordes of walkers."

Enjolras closed his eyes and _tried_ to remember. Just dimly, he could pull an image of sitting awkwardly outside of Victoria's Secret while Cosette shopped. The girls walking in gave him leers and looked at him like he was a piece of meat. That's what he mainly remembered; the horrible, predatory looks on their faces as they stared him down.

"So," he cleared his throat, trying to escape the awful thoughts that plagued him more than he was proud of (_Maybe this infection isn't such a bad thing after all..._). "You and Marius?"

Cosette groaned. "Don't beat him up, please."

"I wouldn't do that!" Enjolras protested, with a smile on his face that mirrored the nostalgic one that curved Cosette's lips.

"What about Theodule?"

"He was talking about you in the locker room! The two of you weren't even going out." Enjolras shuddered. "I heard guys say stuff about you that I never wanted to hear. You were just a baby little freshman, too!"

"Yeah, and you were my badass senior brother! I'm sure they ran from you the minute they saw you coming." She nudged his shoulder and he was suddenly, awfully reminded of the times when they used to crawl on the fire escape back in elementary school to escape their mother's various, abusive ex-boyfriends. They used to sit and look down at the hazy Atlanta streets and try not to let the clamminess of the metal get to them. There they did their homework and formed a bond that was nearly impenetrable.

"Anyway..."

"Yes," She sighed, looking down at her fraying shorts. One of her neatly cut fingernails scratched out a pattern on her pale thigh. "If you must know, we hooked up one time shortly after I got better. I found out that he was Éponine's ex, though, and felt weird about the whole thing. So we've only _kissed _once, but I feel like we're in a relationship, you know?"

"Yeah." Enjolras mused. "So what is he doing inside anyway?"

"Scoping out the store. I told him that we can't risk anything." Cosette mentioned casually. Enjolras gasped and nearly ran after the poor kid. Cosette laughed aloud and yanked him back down beside her.

"Marius is going to die! Cosette, he's absolutely _hopeless_!" Enjolras motioned helplessly even as he allowed her to pull him down to a sitting position on the pavement.

"Azelma and I snuck out one morning to get me a new top; it's clear, I swear." She assured him. He finally relaxed and eased back down. "So, speaking of," Her eyebrows wiggled suggestively. Enjolras withheld a groan.

"Seriously, is everyone plotting against us or something?"

"The opposite, actually, we're plotting _for _you, if that makes any sense. How do you even feel about her?" Cosette asked.

"Hell if I know." Enjolras scoffed. "I mean, I think she's pretty and brave, obviously. She saved my life and I mean, I guess we're pretty good friends?" He shrugged. "Again, I really just don't know."

"But how do you feel about her? You just described Éponine, you didn't analyze." Cosette pointed out. Enjolras shook her knee playfully.

"When did you turn into my psychiatrist? You're supposed to be my kid sister." He exclaimed. She laughed and punched his shoulder.

"I'm only three years younger than you!"

"A whole three years!" Enjolras felt laughter tearing and weathering away at the defenses he'd set up to protect him. It felt nice, though, as if the walls were cracking and releasing a long held freedom.

"Hey guys, it's clear!" Marius called from the doorway. The siblings stood and stretched, but before they went inside, Cosette grabbed Enjolras's hand and gave him the widest eyes she could.

"So?"

"Fine." he rolled his eyes, looking back momentarily to make sure that Marius couldn't hear him. "I like her, _like like_ her. Happy?"

Cosette beamed. "Extremely."

* * *

"Happy Birthday!" The voices startled her when she came in from watch, and Éponine's hands flew to her mouth when she saw all of them gathered there in the massive foyer of the plantation house. Fantine and Azelma precariously balanced a cake between the two of them, whilst everyone else held gifts or shot confetti out of the novelty confetti makers. Enjolras dangled a silent noise maker between his lips like a cigar, and when she sent him a wide smile, he half-heartedly blew into it, sending the noise through the din and to her ears. His blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight.

The groups- no, they were now singular, _group_- made their way to the dining room, where a vast dinner was laid out and more gifts were sprinkling the table. Éponine was escorted by Bahorel and Gueulemer to the head seat, where her little brothers lowered a plastic crown on her head together. Her eyes wet at the sight of Gavroche and Azelma looking so _happy _as they celebrated her birthday. Enjolras caught her watching them and smiled proudly, as if _he _was happy that she was.

A funny feeling gnawed at her heart, but she ignored it for the sake of the food in front of her. Before she was even finished eating, presents were sent her way and people were begging her to open theirs first. She felt her eyes wet against her will as she received both useful and not-so-useful items, including (but, _oh_, not limited to) a new knife set that was probably made for a kitchen, a pair of combat boots with spikes on the heels, a white sundress, a long-expired can of coca-cola, and a small gift from Enjolras that she waited to open until last.

She carefully peeled the paper off of the small box, aware of everyone's eyes on her. Doing so revealed a thin, white box and she looked at Enjolras in confusion. He didn't seem the type to get her jewelery, but there was really not much else that would fit in a box so small. Enjolras shrugged and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck.

"It's a little stupid..." He confessed quietly. Valjean knocked him over the head in a fatherly manner, sending an indignant 'ow!' from his lips. Éponine, now as interested as ever, popped the top off the box to see soft, red, mesh. She picked at it, to reveal a fingerless, scarlet mesh glove. Silence fell over the room until Courfeyrac broke it.

"Really, Enjolras? You got her _gloves_?"

"I like them!" Éponine laughed. Her face softened in Enjolras's direction. "I really do." As if to prove a point, she pulled them on immediately, and grew quite infatuated with the feel of the snugness around her fingers and the silky feel of new fabric on her calloused hands.

The celebration resumed thus, people milling about and eventually wishing Éponine a good night and a happy birthday before retiring for the night. She blushed at the same time that she was immensely touched. She, Feuilly, and Enjolras were the last three to leave the still-messy dining room. When Éponine began to clean up, Feuilly stopped her.

"No, you and Enjolras go hang out. It's your birthday." Feuilly said kindly. Éponine laid a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"I'm glad Azelma's with you." Éponine turned away before she could see Feuilly's flattered blush. Just then, a sliver of light from the inside hit a building visible from the window, and an idea shot into Éponine's head. She tapped Enjolras's shoulder and stood on her tiptoes to suggest something to him. When she pulled away, his eyes were wide and his mouth gaping like a fish.  
"So, are you up for it?" She asked. He nodded, wordlessly.

* * *

"I'm nervous." Enjolras confessed. Éponine shook her head at him, laughing. The two traipsed slowly down the grassy hill to the barn, their lips coated in frosting and their stomachs full, arms wrapped around each other in a way that was awkwardly straddling platonic and romantic. The evening sky was littered with few, weakly shining stars and still tinged the pale blue of the day. The moon was just a sliver, like a fingernail or a blade of glowing grass.

"You wanted to see what was there, right?" She teased, making her way to where the deadbolt was keeping the little red barn shut tight. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his silhouette, framed by the dim light, nodding in an affirmation.

"For all I know, you could have gotten rid of it by now," Enjolras mused. When he heard the bolt slide open with finality, he lamely added, "You know, whatever it was that you had in there."

"Nope," She popped the 'p', keeping her hand on the door to ensure that it remained closed. "I've neither added nor removed anything since you tried to sneak in."

"Promise?" He asked. She looked at him strangely; that word seemed to be a taboo between them. Still she agreed.

"I promise." She pulled the door open upon those words, revealing the inside of the barn. Enjolras chuckled and stepped inside.

"I should've known." He slowly looked around the barn, noting its significant lack of, well, anything. His eye caught a dark shape that lined the top of the room, and he looked back at Éponine, who was watching him in amusement. "Or," He wickedly began, reaching for the nearby ladder. He began to climb, each new rung punctuating his words, "You could be hiding something up here!"

"You're stupid." She commented dryly. "Come back down so we can have some more cake before my brothers eat it all."

"Why don't you come up here? There will be plenty more birthdays, and we'll eat all the cake then." Enjolras assured her with an uncharacteristic wink. Her heart fluttered anyway at the idea that they might actually stay for good, and that this solid group- no, _family_- of theirs might remain intact.

"There's nothing up there, though!" She called up, laughter finally bubbling through her words. She felt elated, the sugar replacing her blood and this unexplainable _feeling_ rushing through her. It felt a damn lot like happiness with a touch of what she thought maybe…

No, she had to stop thinking that. This was _Enjolras_, for God's sake, the beautiful college boy who (well, _usually_, anyway) had a stick up his ass.

"There's hay." Enjolras countered. . Éponine rolled her eyes and reached impatiently for him to pull her up the final rungs and into the hayloft.

"My point remains." She shot back. It was Enjolras's turn to make a face at her, and since he was _him_, it looked like he was constipated.

"Technically, hay is no _nothing_, and anyway, now there's _us_." Enjolras pointed out. . Éponine laughed loudly and scooped up a handful of the golden sticks, throwing it at Enjolras's head, causing a few pieces to stick.

"_Technically_," She mocked him, crawling forwards to pluck a long stick from his hair. Her hand inevitably brushed against his cheek, which froze him for a moment. She stopped as well, her hand still in his hair and his bunched in the hay by where she was kneeling. His other hand reached up and began to pluck a few pieces that had somehow ended up in her hair as well.

It ought to be noted, the strangeness of this moment, where the two youths had hay entwined with their hair, not because they'd gone insane like Orphelia, but because they'd gotten into a fight with the stuff while lounging in a hayloft during the zombie apocalypse.

And it was there that Enjolras broke the moment, his hand moving from her hair to cup her face, where his thumb traced sweetly over her bottom lip. Her breath hitched in her throat and her hand tentatively cupped his face as well.

Enjolras couldn't move fast enough. It was as if the floodgates broke and released what he'd been wanting to do since she'd first walked down the stairs, beaten down and yet standing strong. It was what she'd been contemplating ever since she was faced with the choice to kill him. Enjolras was like the sun and she the shadows, creating balance, something very much needed in that world.

Their lips crashed together. It was as if the perfect storm, which had been brewing for months, finally released the well anticipated patter of rain. They moved like they had been practicing, melting together and entwining limbs as if they were two halves of something that was always meant to be whole. His hand released her face and entwined with the one that held his, while he carefully eased them to be lying in the hay.

One of her legs was trapped between his, while the other sweetly wrapped around his calf. If they were to be broken apart, a disaster would ensue, not unlike that of a schism between two long-conjoined landforms.

Enjolras pushed the kiss into the next level, running his teeth over her lip and his tongue over her teeth. She shyly recuperated; it felt strange that the uptight Enjolras would be the leader in such intimacy; he'd always seemed so celibate to her.

Hay ran under her shirt from where they were moving together, it was irritating against her skin and yet easily to ignore given the circumstance. Enjolras let his free hand splay over her shirt, tickling her ribs and electrocuting her from where the warmth of his fingers touched her. She pulled away, surfacing from their storm for a breath of air to yank her shirt over her head. Enjolras unbuttoned his with fumbling fingers, which caused Éponine to laugh and simply rip the shirt from his chest.

"Eager, are we?" He teased. Éponine rolled her eyes and yanked him back to her lips.

"Shut up and kiss me." She ordered. He obliged, laughter coloring their lips even as they bruised them with the force of each others'. Enjolras's hands were fully free, and thus began to wander kindly over her skin. One was trailing her clothed legs and the other moved over her bare stomach to the clasp of her front-buttoned bra. When she felt the warmth of his skin that close, though, she stiffened underneath him.

"Éponine?" His voice sounded distant to her, and she wanted to go back to him, but she couldn't. In the midst of all that happened, she hadn't the time to delve over Montparnasse's forced intercourse with her. Suddenly she was back in her bedroom (the same place where she could no longer bear to sleep on the bed, instead choosing the floor or the window seat that was barely cushioned) with Montparnasse's hands roaming her and his velvet voice promising to be gentle. The way he _hurt_ inside of her and the way he wouldn't listen. Her mother always told her to tell a boy 'no' or 'stop'. Éponine always assumed that they would listen.

"Éponine!" Enjolras was shouting at her, but she wasn't sure that she was even in the hayloft anymore. She was then back at her little house, on a strange night when she was barely ten and her father had a friend over. The two of them got drunk and the friend stumbled into her bedroom and _touched _her. She had chosen to forget for a reason, but now that she was in a safe place with someone she trusted, it was all rushing back and she couldn't stop it.

Enjolras's hand covered her mouth and she realized that she must have been screaming, and managed to come back into herself to snap her mouth closed. Even then, the scream burned her throat and her fingers were digging into the hay. Slowly, she became aware of a larger hand covering one of hers and a kind voice talking her down. Slowly, she relaxed. Enjolras lay down beside her and did nothing but hold her hand and whisper. When she began to regather her bearings, she realized that he was actually singing softly.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, her voice sounding foreign and hoarse in her ear. He shook his head and tentatively reached up the hand that recently released her mouth to brush a strand of her hair away from her face. He retracted his hand quickly, but Éponine nudged her forehead against the heel of his palm, much like a cat in her need for comfort. Enjolras took the hint and gathered her into his arms, where he rocked her. Éponine was still shaking.

* * *

**So yeah the birthday scene was really rushed but fluff makes me uncomfortable, so sorry. Next chapter will be awful. If you've seen the Walking Dead, just think of the last few episodes of season two. Yeah. That's happening. Sorry not sorry. **


	5. In Which There Is Bonding In A Barn

**For those of you who watch the show, most of this idea is taken from the last episode (s) of season two. And, of course, the famous line comes at the very end. I was going to continue on past that, but I figured that it made for a good cut-off. I'll try to have the new chapter up in less than two days- maybe I can wrap up this whole thing by the premiere of the next episode (or, next Sunday). **

**ALSO IMPORTANT: Notice how I said I had more written? Remember that before you kill me for the end of this. Also, those who are TWD fans, think of what happened to Andrea after this sequence and simply apply that to Enjolras and Éponine. (For those of you who aren't, it will be explained next chapter, I promise)**

* * *

"Valjean," Javert said. The man who was called looked up from where he was preparing his and Fantine's bed. He nodded at his old friend, who now felt almost as a rival.

"How can I help you?" He asked, levelly. Javert shifted awkwardly in the doorway before tilting his head as if debating a response.

"Can we speak… Outside?" The ginger asked. Valjean nodded carefully, stepping out around the bed to join Javert in the hallway. The two passed a giggling Feuilly, on her way to Azelma's bedroom, and the girl snagged Valjean's arm and squeaked in his ear.

"Avoid the barn, won't you? Enjolras and Éponine are out there." The small, mousy girl released him and bounded up the stairs that he and Javert were descending. He shook his head with a small smile. It was about time that Marc got over what strange aversion he had to love.

Javert guided the two of them out without another word, the screen door placed gently in its place by Valjean. Outside, the night was just starting, and the air took on a biting chill. The darkness that pooled around their walking feet seemed like a shadowy warning.

Passing the truck on which the watch was usually taken, Javert continued on to a relatively flat stretch of land a good one hundred meters from the plantation house. The small field was complete with a decapitated soccer goal and a long-deflated ball, indicating that its previous use was that of a soccer practice ground for Marius.

It was around the center of the field that Javert finally turned to face Valjean. The man's cool, hard gaze regarded his long-time rival (calling the two of them friends, in Javert's mind anyway, was a long shot) with a calculating stare. Finally Valjean spoke, his deep, warm voice almost melting the ice that filled the chasm between them.

"What is-"

"I must confess something to you." Javert said. Valjean resisted a chuckle- there was no way that Javert could possibly know that Fantine confessed long ago.

"Well, out with it then." Keeping his voice light, Valjean watched as Javert's face morphed into an expression almost akin to guilt.

"I have reason to believe that I may be the father of Fantine's child."

The warmth slid right off of Valjean's face.

* * *

Enjolras kept Éponine tucked into his chest, allowing her to slowly realize her surroundings and the safety that was enveloping her. When Enjolras felt her press a kiss to his skin, he moved away enough to study her face. He didn't want to say anything, not wanting to trigger her again and yet feeling like he was drowning. Enjolras felt completely helpless to help her, and the lack of control scared him more than anything.

"I'm sorry." She said, managing a hollow-sounding laugh. The hay prickled their bare skin, and her hair was trapped to the side of her face and parts of his chest where her tears created a kind of glue. Upon hearing her words, Enjolras rubbed her arms awkwardly. "This was supposed to be-"

"Don't be sorry." He assured her. With a kiss to her temple, he tried to expel the awful thoughts that arose in him. What happened to her to make her so scared? Did _anything _happen? Could he do anything at all?

"I'm… I- Shit. Enjolras, don't do this." She pulled away from him at that point, reaching through the hayloft to find her shirt. "Please."

"Don't do what?" Enjolras didn't force continued physical contact, but he did wait for an answer. With her knees buried in the hay, her back hunched, and her hair falling all around her, Éponine appeared a spirit there against the blue night.

"_This_." She motioned to herself. "In times like these, it's not worth it. Don't care about me, don't _want _me, it'll just cost you in the end."

"You're a little late on that one." He scoffed. Her gaze met his, and he was struck with her beauty as he was always. The weeks of proper feeding and care worked wonders on her. Éponine's cheeks were full and rosy, her body fleshier in general, and her golden skin glowed. Her hair was lustrous and curlier than the matted mess that it was when they first met. Her eyes sparkled constantly, especially there, when she looked at him after hearing that. Enjolras knew that he had said the right thing.

Giving up on her search, Éponine sighed and seemed to fold inside of herself until she was burrowing into his side again, suddenly aware of how cold the night felt. As if he knew what she was thinking, Enjolras moved his arms around her again and began to trace fiery circles on her bare back, carefully avoiding her bra.

"I… I tried to tell him no. I wanted him to stop." She started saying. Enjolras stiffened- he wasn't sure that he wanted to hear this so fresh from her mouth. "At first, I let him. It was nice-ish, and I was lonely. But… When I realized what we were doing… He didn't listen…"

It didn't take long for Enjolras to realize that Éponine was crying again- never before had he thought this tough girl capable of so much tears. Then again, sometimes it's the ones who are least expected to show an emotion that feel it the most. The impact of her words hit him suddenly.

"Who did this?" Enjolras asked, anger slowly bubbling inside of him. She shook her head against him.

"Can we not?" She asked weakly. "Just… forget I said anything, okay?"

"I can't forget this, not if it affects you." Enjolras began to grow frustrated even as he held Éponine tighter against him. How could she not understand the fury coursing through his veins? The thought that some low life was capable of doing such a thing…. It sent violent thoughts through Enjolras, thoughts usually reserved for walkers.

"Please, try to, okay? It's how you can help." Éponine insisted, feeling the cold seep through her skin. She cuddled closer. It was a strange feeling, being held by Enjolras. He was usually so cold and firm, but in a way he was a rock in her life. He was always _himself_, and that constant was what she needed. Now he was changing, for her, nonetheless, but the difference was not unwelcome.

"But-"

"No buts." She snapped, hugging him even as she used such a harsh tone.

He laughed, and she could feel the rumbling from deep within his chest against her cheek and she smiled. Oh, yes. She could get used to this. She could get used to _him_.

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

"Is there any basis for this reasoning?" Valjean asked, trying to maintain his calm. Although he was experiencing every husband and father's nightmare, he was _not _going to be the one to overreact. Even then, he could feel the walls rebuilding around him the way they were intact many years ago.

"Well, she and I... had an affair. Several months ago. Does she know when the child was conceived?" Javert was also, evidentaly trying to remain calm as well. His left hand clutched his pocket, the place where he kept a hand-held bible, while his right moved slowly to his belt and, inevitably, to his knife.

Valjean, ready to give a smooth response over the recent creation of the child, faltered. In the excitement, was it possible that Fantine's pregnancy could have gone unnoticed for so long? Was it possible that the innocent child in his wife's stomach belonged to another man who spilled his seed in her many months ago?

"No." he seemed to wilt inside of himself. "Well, she might, but I don't."

"She did not discuss this with you?" Javert seemed confused. "If there are two possible fathers, it would be the first issue, no?"

"Perhaps she is so certain of the paternity that she didn't think it important to mention." Valjean said with finality, the potential truth behind his statement warming his heart. "Her first problem was the idea of bringing a child into this horrific place."

"Perhaps you're right." Javert commented after a few moments of a breezy silence. "I'm sorry you had to find out about the affair... this way."

"I already knew." Valjean assured him. "Fantine told me as soon as I arrived."

"But-" Javert seemed lost beyond belief. "You don't hate me?"

"No." Valjean smiled warmly, feeling better for having the awkward, stress-filled conversation, as tough as it was. "I forgave you a long time ago, _mon_ _ami_."

"It is a shame then," Javert pulled his knife out from his belt while Valjean felt a terrible pull of dread fermenting in his gut. "That I do not forgive myself."

"What are you on about?" The older man asked, panic taking place aside the dread when he saw Javert put the tip of the knife against his own chest. The distant light from the house reflected off the silver blade, nearly blinding Valjean's dark eyes.

"Exodus chapter 20 lines 14 and 17." Javert's voice wavered with emotion and trepidation, all while Valjean's heart beat furiously inside his chest. The tension seemed easier to cut with the knife than Javert's skin. "Thou shalt not commit adultery."

"God has forgiven you, Javert!" Valjean cried in desperation. The other just shook his head and continued in that usually stern, level voice that was now reduced to a quivering mess.

"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife." Javert said. "I am sorry, Jean." It was the use of his Christian name that finally drove Valjean to tears. "I still love her, and I think I always will."

Without even a cry of agony, Gregoire Javert drove the blade into his chest. His green eyes, once alert like a cat's, were now empty as they rolled to the back of his head. His knees hit the dead crass with a soft crunch, closely followed by a thump as his chest hit the ground as well. The very tip of the blood-stained blade poked through the back of his flannel shirt.

"Gregoire?" Valjean yelled. He ran forward and carefully rolled Javert over and placed a dark hand against the other man's pale, sweat-soaked neck. After a few seconds, the horrific truth became clear as day, or at least the crystal night. Javert was dead.

"Papa?" A voice wavered from behind him. Valjean slowly looked over his shoulder to see Cosette, her russet hair loose around her shoulders and her lips parted in surprise. Her thin arms hung limp at her sides and her blue eyes were wide and helpless. She was staring at Javert's motionless, bloody form.

"Cosette-" Valjean stuttered. He stood with all the speed of an old man and slowly walked to his step-daughter. She made an audible gasping noise and pulled her gun out of her pocket. Valjean stepped away from her, hurt and grief filling him as he stared down the barrel of her gun.

Cosette blinked for a long moment before pulling the trigger. The gun shot exploded the air, echoing off the nearby hills and trees. Valjean winced, only to feel nothing but air pass him by. Confused, he turned to see Javert... collapsing to the ground with a bullet hole right through his forehead. Valjean turned to Cosette with his jaw hanging slack.

"Did a walker get him, Papa?" She asked, innocently. Valjean shook his head, realization seeping in at the same time that he caught sight of the rustling bushes along the edge of the plantation closest to them.

"Shit." He cursed under his breath, almost covering his mouth at the remembrance of Cosette's presence, but then the problem at hand became more important. "Run, Cosette, run!"

* * *

The gunshot reached the couple in the barn. Éponine shot up, her arms crossing over her bra. When Enjolras sleepily blinked up at her, shocked awake at her sudden movement, she laughed at him. He made as if to go back to sleep before closing his eyes for a moment and listening. There was the dull noise of yelling in the near distance. If her wrinkled nose and tilted head was any indication, Éponine heard it to.

"I'll go check it out." Enjolras mumbled. He reached for his shirt and pulled it on, cursing in his brain when he remembered the ripped buttons on the lower half of his shirt. Éponine tugged on his arm when he made to leave the hayloft for good.

"Everything's probably fine, okay?" She tried to assure him, but after being in such a vulnerable state that night she was unable to mask her fear and worry the way she usually would be able to.

"I'm just going to go see if they need any help." Enjolras brushed her hand away from him and began his descent, half of his shirt still unbuttoned. After a moment's hesitation, he kissed her once, sweetly on the lips before jumping the rest of the way to the floor of the barn. "Stay here!" He called back over his shoulder. He was fairly sure he heard an amused 'fuck you' in response.

His insides were a swirling claustrafuck of feelings. One one hand, he felt overwhelmingly happy. The fact that Éponine kissed him back so willingly surely meant something, but the attack she had when they tried to go further tainted that joy with worry, and anger aimed at whoever thought to do such a thing to her. On top of everything else, like a thin, hazy glaze, laid fear for what was causing the commotion nearby.

He caught sight of his sister and step-father running for their lives, a gun clasped in Cosette's small hand and Valjean guiding Cosette nearly to the point of pushing her along. The panic in their faces was evident and quite strange. Behind them rose the peaceful hill, and behind that was the treeline overlooked by the moon. Moments after they caught sight of Enjolras, he saw _what _they were running from, and his throat went dry.

Framed against the black night and illuminated by the glowing stars was what seemed to be a slow-moving swarm of bugs. However, Enjolras knew that bugs would not make anyone so upset. That left only one other option, and it was terrifying. The very idea that a swarm so large would find them off-guard was a very humbling thought.

"Enjolras! Warn the others _now!_" Valjean shouted, short of breath. Enjolras barely managed to nod before running towards the farm house. As he put his High School cross country skills to use, he looked briefly towards the barn. He sent a thought into the air to whatever divine being watched over them.

_Please, please let Éponine stay there and stay safe. _

* * *

The three who were aware of the oncoming attack did not know that the resounding gunshot lured in walkers from all directions. Inside the farm house, the walkers inside the basement grew restless. Hisses and moans filled the damp cellar and scratches sounded on the wooden hatches. At the sound of a single walker trying for the inside hatch, the others piled behind it, all hissing and moaning and pushing the locks to their breaking point.

Only a few feet above and to the left, Courfeyrac's little sister, Arianne slept without knowing any better. The eight year old woke with a start because of Enjolras's voice rousing all those in the house in a shouted whisper. The Thénardier brothers awoke as well, and the three children exchanged scared looks across their shared bedroom. Enjolras ducked his strangely disheveled head in the doorway.

"Come on kids, take nothing, we need to go _now_." He said, reaching inside and practically pulling little Greg with him into the hallway. Arianne clutched her stuffed rabbit close to her pre-pubescent chest and took Dom's outstretched hand. The nine-year-old blushed when the pretty little girl accepted his outstretched hand. The two followed closely behind Enjolras, Dom actually taking ahold of the red tail of the older boy's shirt. He dragged Arianne behind him, and together they made a strange train; Enjolras pushing the four-year-old Greg in front of him while making sure that Dom's hand remained wrapped around his shirt, and Arianne walked on her tiptoes, holding tightly to Dom's hand.

They passed over the carpet that Éponine had put in place to conceal the cellar hatch, and Arianne's toe caught on the deadbolt, sliding it open. Thinking it was nothing, she continued hurrying along behind the boys. Within seconds, though, the group of four heard the ominous sound of an excited cluster of walkers. Enjolras froze in place, looking back with hesitation to see the carpet slowly rising with the hatch until it slid off and revealed several milky, dumb eyes.

Arianne stared in horror, unable to move. It was slowly that a decomposed hand reached from the hole in the ground. Its fingers slid along the hardwood in slow motion as Enjolras scooped Greg into his arms and tried to pull Arianne back. It was to no avail. The hand lunged for the little girl, grabbing her ankle and yanking her down when she tried to run. Dom screamed his friend's name as she slid from his grasp. Her rabbit toy hit the ground near Dom's foot, and the three could do nothing but watch as a sobbing Arianne was dragged into the cellar, several gray hands grabbing at her and spilling her blood over the floor. She released a first, horrifying scream as blackened teeth dug into her neck, sealing her fate.

Enjolras managed to take action then, shoving the cellar hatch closed and sliding the deadbolt in. He breathed heavily, the girl's screams still echoing through the floorboards. Behind him, he heard the distinct absence of Dom's grief-stricken cry. When he looked at the boy, the young Thénardier was clutching the rabbit.

* * *

"Grantaire, come on, you've killed enough already!" Jehan's begging voice did nothing to deter the young woman, who simply sipped straight out of her vodka bottle and took aim with the hand gun. She squeezed the trigger and it went straight through the forehead of the walker of a black boy with large, curly hair. He was once very handsome, but since his infection, the disease seeped into him and spoiled him from the inside out.

"These bastards gotta die." She sneered in response, firing another shot and hitting one that had snuck up behind Jehan. The poet jumped at the sudden closeness of the bullet, but did not move from his mission.

"Please, Grantaire! _Emelyn_!" He cried. Tears were actually pouring down his face, for it became evident that his friend was not likely to move from her spot for any reason whatsoever.

"No." She responded coolly. The alcohol was already getting to her, her blue eyes red-rimmed and her lips turning a strange shade. Her hand barely shook on the trigger, but it did enough to take Jehan's notice.

"Jehan, Grantaire, what the hell are you doing?" Montparnasse's velvet voice managed its calmness even in the midst of the fire (how _that_ occurred, no one was quite sure) and the attack of the walkers.

"Montparnasse, she's not moving!" Jehan turned to the other boy, whose eyebrows shot straight up into his dark hairline. Grantaire ignored the both of them, continuing her, admittedly impressive, multitasking. After the next shot was fired and she missed the approaching walker by a hair, Montparnasse sighed as if saving her would be a painful task in which he wished to not participate.

In one swift motion, Montparnasse used all his lithe strength to scoop Grantaire around her waist and over his shoulder. "Jehan, watch us, will you?" His voice was quiet and sincere. For once his eyes held no hidden shard of malice. Jehan nodded, feeling his heart beating up inside his throat. The three started towards where the others were congregating, on the driveway and by the Thénardiers' old trailer that was almost past use. Grantaire lifted her arm and fired at the following walkers even as she was carried sloppily to safety. As if she still had a death wish, she gulped vodka down like water.

Fantine was struggling to hold a duffel bag between the kitchen island and her knee as she threw all the non-perishable food she could grab into the bag. Cosette nearly upended the open bag when she ran in, followed closely by Valjean. Enjolras emerged from the hallway with a teary Dom and a scared Greg, who was holding on to Enjolras's neck with a vice-like grip. Gavroche was close behind with a laundry basket full of blankets nearly twice his size.

"We need to get out of here." Valjean said shortly. Almost as if on a cue, moans began rattling the nearest screen door. Fantine huffed and quickly zipped the bag and threw it over her shoulder. Cosette took Dom by the hand and was about to leave when Enjolras handed her Greg as well.

"Enjolras, what-"

"Éponine." Was all he said, and the three syllables were thrown over his shoulder as he pushed his way through the swarmed front door. Fantine screamed after him and nearly followed, but Valjean and Cosette grabbed her and restrained her.

"That's my son-" Fantine choked out. Valjean stared at the ground for several moments before looking back up with a determined stare. Cosette, however, was the one who managed to revive her mother from the woman's reverie.

"He's my big brother." Cosette indicated, taking ahold of Fantine's hand. Valjean scooped Greg from Cosette and placed his hand on the small of his wife's back. The remnants of the Valjean family were entwined together with the youngest Thénardiers. Gavroche was walking slightly in front of the rest of them as if the lot formed a shield that covered his back and sides as he raced towards the trailer.

"Where is Éponine, anyway?" Cosette sounded confused, and stood on her tiptoes to look across the lawn to where Enjolras was sprinting. The barn cut a firm outline, but even from where the group was, they could see the smoke that rose from the burning wood as well as the wide open doors that were an invitation to any and all walkers.

Valjean reacted at the sight first. "ENJOLRAS, DON'T!"

"What the hell is he doing?" Bahorel hissed, his hand reaching for his gun. Feuilly, one arm wrapped protectively around Azelma, stopped him and shook her head.

"He won't hear you from this far away... He's doomed."

"_Don't say that_." Fantine hissed. Feuilly cringed at the scathing intent in the mother's words.

"The barn is overrun and he won't hear you from that far away. It's pointless- look." Just as Feuilly's slow, careful prediction was spoken, Enjolras disappeared inside the barn without stopping for even the smallest moment. Fantine made no sound; she simply collapsed to the ground as if all the will to stand flew into the air from her skin. Almost from too far away, Mabeuf's voice sounded like a relief.

"The trailer's okay! It's hooked up to this here chevy-" The old man did not get to finish before a walker emerged from the murky shadows beyond the trailer to take a chunk from his throat- killing him quickly and silencing him immediately. Courfeyrac stomped the walker's head into the grass, where it exploded into a indistinguishable mush of blood and brains.

"Everyone get on, _now_!" Marius cried. Fantine was almost carried by her husband and daughter aboard, and as soon as she was past the doorway, the engine revved up like a welcome, albeit loud, purr. Bahorel stepped on the accelerator, and the small caravan lunged onto the gravel drive, the lights the only guide into the night.

Inside the trailer, there was a terrible silence as the lost were spoken of. Javert was obviously the first to go, and Valjean made a point of mentioning that he went bravely and with a pure heart. The strange happenstance of his friend's death remained unspoken.

Then there was little Arianne Courfeyrac. Upon receiving the news, Courfeyrac released a strangled sob and buried her face into a mournful, if blushing, Combeferre's shoulder. Dom held the tiny toy tightly and kept his dark eyes fixed on the ground, blinking rapidly as if to keep the tears away.

"Mabeuf was a good man." Marius said softly. "He was always so helpful." And it was true. While the old man was not the most significant member of their make-shift society, he had his place as a comforting and constant figure. He was their idol- so sure of himself despite his age and situation, and brave enough to make any walker regret crossing paths with him.

Gueulemer was brought up next by Bahorel. None of them new him particularly well, with the young man being so quiet and withdrawn. There was more concern and grief brought with the two who perished alongside him.

"Enjolras and Éponine." Courfeyrac said from her muffled stance inside Combeferre's shirt. There was a long period of silence in which the group- the _families_, really- of the youths mourned them. Éponine, who had died cornered in a burning barn with Gueulemer, and Enjolras, who had been stupid enough to run in after her.

Following the list of those gone, it was as if all the energy that once possessed them simply escaped with a collective sigh. The heaviness hung about them like weighted breaths- impossible to either escape or lesson. Fortunately, or, rather, _un_fortunately, the cadence was cut through with a sharp cry that came from Jehan's lips.

"Grantaire? R? Can you hear me?" He was shaking her, as if in denial. All eyes went to the young woman lying motionless between a distraught Jehan and a lost-looking Montparnasse. Jehan continued to shake her shoulders, but from an outside perspective it was quite easy to tell that it was simply too late.

Grantaire, her usual plainness gone, appeared beautiful in death. Her blue-black hair was tossed about by the wind and framed her narrow face like a pillow. Her lips were just slightly parted, revealing her white- if slightly crooked- teeth. The color of the skin on her lips was a cold, purple shade framed by flakes of white, dry skin in the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were slightly parted and staring at the roof of the bumbling trailer and her pale arms hung limp at her sides.

Joly hesitantly made his way to the trio and bent down beside Jehan. With his pointer and middle finger, he sought out her pulse point and held his fingertips there for a few seconds. He looked back at the others with tears in his eyes and they all understood.

It was almost ironic how the only thing that Grantaire ever seemed to believe in, her drink, was the one that eventually killed her.

Jehan began to cry. It was a heartbreaking sight, but none could deny him his moment. The nightmare of escaping horror only to have it follow you is one that is unavoidable in life, and unpredictable in its timing. Montparnasse crawled over to where Jehan cradled Grantaire and rested his arm over the poet's shoulders. Despite looking on the verge of panic himself, Montparnasse held it together for the both of them.

Once it appeared that Jehan was close to calming down, Valjean stepped forward. He was hesitant to enact his hypothesis in such a tender moment, but it could be the difference between a future life and death.

"Boys, get back." he ordered calmly. Confused, Montparnasse led himself and Jehan to rest in a tangled, teary mess in the corner, far away from where Emelyn Grantaire's body lay. Valjean observed the girl for only a short time before her fingers began to twitch. Fantine gasped and looked up at her husband in horror; she caught on to the truth behind their lives. Valjean said nothing, however, and instead continued to watch.

It was seconds later before Grantaire's eyes snapped open, milky irises replacing those that were once navy blue. Valjean's arm went into motion so fast that it was almost as if the action never happened. He pulled the rarely-used gun from its holster and fired it right through Grantaire's forehead. He looked around the small, condensed area, and, seeing the confusion, began to explain.

"If you die, you die, right? That's not how it is here. You die from an infection inflicted by a bite or scratch via walker and you only turn once you die from that, no? But... That's not the only way you get the virus. It's airborne or something" Valjean took a deep breath and managed to say, "_We're all infected_."

* * *

**UHHH this chapter is so rushed and yet it took forever to finish. I wrote like little vignettes whenever I got the chance, but I blew out my back a few days ago and my laptop was upstairs and I just didn't feel like enduring this ****_pain_**** to walk upstairs. So I didn't finish until today, in which I've spent most of my time upstairs because I couldn't go to swim try-outs because of my back and fucking swimmer's ear (I GET IT LIKE EVERY THREE WEEKS IT MAKES NO SENSE),**

**So yeah. Review please? :3**


	6. In Which Musichetta is Michonne

**I lied. Not much explanation in this chapter... This is a short little connection that will put together the last few chapters with the next two- which will also be the last two. (maybe three)**

* * *

_Valjean took a deep breath and managed to say, _"_We're all infected_."

**-eight months later-**

The past several months had been trying on the group. Heart-breaking issues caused bumps in the road that had once been so smooth, back at the plantation, a place that seemed worlds away. The days of crunching autumn leaves and Indian summers were long gone- there was no more feeling of home, not even if they were all together. It seemed that no matter where they were, the empty spots that were once filled by their friends were gaping holes.

All they could do was hope, and even that seemed to be such a difficult thing to do. The summer days, in their sweltering torturous way, dragged on and pulled at the group's limbs, pulling them into the orange-tinted Georgia soil. Their hearts were heavy in their hollow chests, seeming to beat without point. Even in their newest homestead, the familial feeling was slow returning.

When had their lives gotten to the point that gray, drab walls seemed like relief? When cots were like heaven on their aching backs? When barbed wire was a thing to love and be grateful for? When their home was, quite literally, a prison?

It provided safety against the walkers, and the two prisoners they came across, Babet and Brujon, were noticeably useful in heavy lifting and runs. With their combined efforts, the prison had been successfully cleared in a matter of short days. Only three lives had been lost in the effort, which was quite impressive given the nearly impossible feat they accomplished.

Bahorel had gone down like a stone, and refused the offer of a quick, unsanitary amputation in sake of throwing himself as bait for the others to escape. One of the prisoners, Brujon, was subject to an accident caused by a woman they came across on their journey to the prison. Simplice stabbed him in the middle of a panic attack, a few days later falling from the watch tower to her death in the midst of another one.

Two more lives had also been stolen in a humid, dark night in a jail cell, but that was a story that was not pleasant to tell. It was these deaths that kept the group from really re-embracing their humanity the way they once had.

It was this situation that nipped at the skinny backs of Cosette and Marius as they drove the chevy away from the prison, occasionally catching the attention of a meandering walker. Sometimes Marius would use his gun (now equipped with a silencer) in passing, but other times the two would simply race by without granting the deadly corpse a second thought.

The car pulled into the parking lot of a nearby ransacked gas station. Marius parked and made sure to have a good grip on his gun before hopping to the ground. Cosette did the same on the other side, and the two met at the car's hood. Cosette managed a tired smile, her lightness almost fading in light of recent events. Marius's heart ached at her sadness and he wished that he could lift it from her, but he had too much to take on someone else's.

"So what are we getting again?" Cosette asked. Even her voice lacked its prior chirpiness.

"We're good on food thanks to the prison's supply. It looks like we have to get.. uh… _Feminine_ products for Courfeyrac, uh…- this is a really personal list, maybe they should have gotten all this themselves- condoms for Combeferre, cough syrup for Greg and a pack of gum for Feuilly." Marius smiled at the luxury items on the list. It was nice to not have to worry about the simplest items for survival.

"So, I'll get the tampons and cough syrup, can you handle the condoms and the gum?" Cosette asked. Marius nodded at her and quickly dove in to steal an innocent kiss before the two went into the store.

A few hundred feet away, two tired figures stumbled down the road. The woman was holding herself slightly better than the young man, but not much. A heavy backpack weighed him down while she kept herself stocked with the weapons, ready to fire or slash at any moment. The road felt like angel kisses under their rough, bare feet. After nearly a month of wandering in the woods, (half of that time spent without shoes on) it was strange to reemerge into the ruins of civilization.

"Has it been three hours?" The woman asked. The man checked the stopwatch that he picked up during one of their raids. The plastic was chipping away in the corners, the places that always took the impact when it fell from his hands (which wasn't too often, but often enough to leave such marks in place. He was still as steady and level-headed as always but for a certain distraction that kept his imagination occupied most of the time). The batteries were nearly dead, and he planned to use them to the last minute.

"We've got two minutes." He told her, smiling slightly. That was their plan to cover more distance. Every three hours they would allow themselves a small rest in which they would sneak bites of beef jerky and take large sips from the dwindling supply left in their shared water flask.

"Good. Think we could cut it short?" She asked. He tried to not shout in relief, and bit his tongue as he nodded evenly.

They walked a few more feet until they found an open spot in a parking lot. They had to ensure that nobody snuck up on them- for the first time in almost two years, two human beings found themselves in danger because of a third party, and that danger was greater than the threat posed by the walkers.

"So," He said, once he had taken a drink. "Do you think we've lost them?"

She was hunched over a map, and cursed at something she saw, looking at a fallen street sign nearby as if to make sure she knew where they were.

"If he sent someone after us, no. We've barely covered three miles." She grumbled, indicating the dirty map. He cursed; she was right. They were currently sitting nearby a small-town intersection, and the town in which they sat was almost next to the place they were running from.

"Shit." He groaned. She nodded and folded the map up carefully, tucking it into the pocket of his backpack. Just then, they heard a bell chime behind them, indicating an opening door. Slowly, they both turned.

A small, black chevy that the man thought familiar blocked their view. The man stood, soon followed by the woman, who handed him a knife. They crept towards the car, ready to peek around it at the threat. It was most likely a walker or two, sensing the fresh flesh nearby, but still their hearts thumped wildly inside their chests.

Then voices accompanied even, _human_ footsteps. "Do you think we should grab some more? Some of the other girls might need some soon."

The voice struck a chord, and the man's shoulders stiffened. She noticed and shot him a quizzical look before turning her attention back to the conversation.

"I don't know! I don't _want_ to know!" The other voice was whining but good-natured, and once again horribly familiar to the man.

The first voice laughed, a sound that even in its joyous nature sounded weighted with worry and grief. The second grumbled something and then there was a second of silence- broken only by the soft sound of lips on lips in a short, wet kiss.

The man stood up, ignoring the protestations made by his partner, and walked around the car as if in a trance. The couple that stood there had their backs to him, oblivious to his presence. Even then, he could see the familiar shapes of their bodies, and when the girl turned ever so slightly, he _knew_ that nose.

"Cosette?" His voice broke on the second syllable, and it was as if time froze. Enjolras was dimly aware of his partner standing behind him, and Cosette and Marius turned to face him as if they moved through gelatin.

"Enjolras?" She sounded equally shocked, and the two stood staring at each other for a good long time. A summer breeze, ever so welcome in the heat of the sun, rustled around the four young people, breaking the moment with a cry from each of the siblings' lips.

They hurtled towards each other as if no amount of time would be enough, and Enjolras seized Cosette around the waist and spun her in the air while her face was buried in his shoulder and her arms tightly pressed into his back. After a minute of their tight hugging, Enjolras set her down and looked at her with awe in his blue eyes. Her matching ones were tearing up and close to pouring over and down her sunburnt cheeks.

"Enjolras? Who's this?" The suspicious voice arose from behind him, and Enjolras spun to see his partner.

"My sister." He choked out. "Oh, Cosette, Marius, this is my friend, Musichetta." Enjolras indicated. The dark skinned girl stepped forward, holding out her hand for the two to shake. Marius took it while Enjolras continued to talk. "She saved me and-" He faltered. "She saved my life."

Instead of shaking Musichetta's hand, Cosette hugged the girl tightly, catching her off guard. When Cosette pulled away, she smiled tearily up at Musichetta, who towered over her petite form.

"Thank you for saving my brother."

"You're welcome." Musichetta managed, her voice sounding strangely gruff. Enjolras suddenly grabbed Cosette's arm and got her to look at him.

"Who's still alive?" He asked. She made a choking sound, which made Marius rush forward and pry his girlfriend from her brother's grasp.

"A lot are lost. Who else got away? Was it just you?" Marius asked. Enjolras stiffened and slowly shook his head.

"No. She also got away…" There was a blank stare from Marius, and a strange expression from Cosette. Enjolras looked down at the dirty pavement before clarifying. "Éponine." He said. "She chose to stay behind. Who's... gone?"

"Arianne Courfeyrac. Gueulemer." Marius began. Enjolras nodded slowly- those were two deaths that he was aware of. Marius snuck a look at Cosette, who appeared ready to blurt out the worst death. It was hard to see what Enjolras looked like right before he was to receive news that no one ever wanted to get. "Javert. Grantaire. Mabeuf. They all died on the plantation. Bahorel died a few weeks ago while we were securing the prison."

"Prison?"

"It's where we're staying. It's a good, solid base." Marius still looked tense and pale. "We lost a few that you've never met. And-"

Cosette interrupted before Marius had to say it. "Mom." She whispered. At first it appeared that her older brother hadn't heard her, but then Enjolras's head snapped towards her, his eyes wide as if he was not going to believe her. "And our baby sister."

Enjolras's knees bucked from under him.

* * *

**PLEASE REVIEW! They are kinda dropping, which makes me sad. Remember, reviews mean that more people live in the end! (And that 'Ponine will return to Enjolras- but only if you review!)**


	7. In Which That Wasn't A Walker

***winces* this chapter was torturous to write, so please let me know what you think! Any and all CC is welcome :)**

* * *

The sunlight was warm and bright enough to filter through the small windows that lined the ceiling of cell block T. Even then, there felt to be a cloud hanging over the group. In light of the recent deaths of Fantine and her child, their leader, the once kind and warm Valjean, had become a recluse and chose to stare at a worn photo of his family all day instead of grieving with the rest of them. In the photograph, he found the two blonds particularly alive-looking, Enjolras with his stone facade and, even then, a smile twitching at his lips, and Fantine with her beaming smile and her arm around her daughter's waist where her hand held her son's, and her other hand resting on her husband's knee.

Combeferre had since taken control; having been high in the ranks even before the plantation days, it was easy for him to be trusted by the others. While Jehan was better with the children, Combeferre was similar in his mild demeanor and quick wit. He _knew _his companions and what they were willing to do to help; he _knew_ who not to push and in what direction to lead those who were wanting more duties.

Even then, with his easy reign over the prison and those within, he felt the pressures as if hanging from his chest, weighing him down. Since Valjean inadvertently gave up his position as leader, no one had died. For that, Combeferre was grateful. His daylight moments were haunted by the awful thought of someone dying under his charge. He was terrified of being swallowed whole by grief like Valjean, of losing his ability to think clearly.

His nights were a relief from these thoughts. It was hard to speak of his nightmares when his lips were revering smooth, brown skin. It was impossible to think of death when his mind was focused completely on her. It was nothing at night but warm, summer darkness and dewdrops in the dark morning, filled between by Courfeyrac, whose smile haunted him in a pleasant way when daylight came.

Combeferre carefully stepped over to Valjean's cell. This time, the man was laying in his bed and staring up at the empty top bunk. His hands were folded on his chest, and the photo was off the wall. Upon a closer look, Combeferre could see that he was holding the photo in his hands.

The two stayed there in comfortable silence, Valjean long away from the world of reality, and Combeferre watching him sadly from the doorway. If the former was aware of the latter's presence, he made no indication of that knowledge.

Just then, the little battery-powered walky talky on Combeferre's belt blared static and Marius's voice, which sounded strange as it warped from the speaker. "We're here."

Valjean, while he had started slightly at the noise, simply said, "You'd best go open those doors."

His voice was empty.

* * *

The little black chevy car rolled to a slower pace as it neared the gate, and slowly the gate opened for them, tugged on either side by Azelma and Courfeyrac. The car drove in quickly, and when Azelma spotted the two extra heads in the back seat, she sent Courfeyrac a questioning look, and in response she just shrugged and began to close the gate. Azelma did as well, and together they held the wide doors closed until Gavroche pressed the lock button.

The car didn't pull in all the way, instead it stopped only a few meters away from the gate, and Cosette practically leapt from the passenger seat and ran to Azelma, where she grasped the teenager's hands, tears in her eyes.

"They're alive." Is all she said. Azelma was confused for a little bit before it sank in. When neither Marius nor Feuilly understood what it was like to loose a sibling, the two girls became close friends in their mourning, made all the stronger over Enjolras and Éponine's apparent union prior to their deaths. If Cosette was here, saying this, Azelma had nearly no choice but to believe her.

Cosette released Azelma and ran at top speed towards the prison yard, where there was a door that led into cell block T. The door opened for her, opened by Combeferre, who listened as Cosette said something, and ran away from her and towards the car. Azelma then ran to. She knew Éponine wasn't there, but she was someone who tended to trust, so she trusted that her sister was alive, wherever she was._  
_

Enjolras carefully stepped from the car, closely followed by a shadowy figure in a sleeveless hoodie. As soon as his bare feet touched the gravel, he was tackled from all sides by everyone who had made it to greet him. It was there that he cried for the first time since this entire thing started, feeling their thin arms surrounding him like a comfortable net. Names tumbled from his lips as he caught sight of all the pairs of equally watery eyes.

Combeferre in particular held him tight, and Enjolras tried to put as much force into his contact with his best friend as he could. God, he missed them. And some of them he would continue missing. Cosette sprinted back across the yard to the group and joined in, flinging herself into the mass of people. Behind her, walking slowly and looking at the ground, was Valjean.

Enjolras pulled away with great reluctance from everyone. He slowly walked towards his step father, whose sadness deepened the lines on his face and whose grief and guilt seemed to be worn like a shroud. Enjolras's mother was gone, but so was Valjean's wife. And he was returning to those he was now sure that thought him long dead.

"Dad." His voice cracked, but he saw the desired effect. Valjean's feet stopped in their path and he slowly looked up. Enjolras knew he was still crying and that he looked as if he just emerged from the pits of hell; his shirt was dirty and ripped by bullets (a story for later) and his face unshaven. His hair was longer, nearly touching his shoulders, and his feet were nearly as brown as the sludge-like blood that inched through the walker's veins.

Valjean looked at him for a long time before smiling, a slow, relieved grin that spread all the way to his eyes. It was then that they launched at each other, Enjolras's taller, slimmer figure wrapping its arms around Valjean's chest, stooping to do so, and Valjean holding the boy close to him.

"Son." he croaked.

* * *

"Enjolras." Combeferre's voice came from the entrance of Enjolras's new cell, that he wished to share with no one for unspoken reasons, but a few understood. _In case __Éponine_ comes. Enjolras glanced up and barely smiled. With all the reunions of the day, the news of his mother still affected him deeply. It was a shock, finally finding the family he left behind only to discover one of its most beloved member... gone.

"Combeferre. Come on in." Enjolras motioned, and hesitantly he listened. Combeferre sat beside his best friend on the lower bunk. The cell was devoid of everything except the now empty bag that had once burdened Enjolras as he and Musichetta ran.

"How are you holding up?" Combeferre asked. Enjolras sighed heavily and shrugged.

"As well as expected, I suppose. Can you tell me... what went wrong, exactly?" Enjolras asked. Combeferre closed his eyes for a long time, trying to not remember. But it was hard to forget the horrible screams that rattled the entire prison, and the deathly silence after, in which neither child nor mother made a sound.

"I don't know myself. You've got to ask Joly." Combeferre said. He could see Enjolras nod in tired understanding out of the corner of his eye.

"So how are you? It's been a while." Enjolras asked, obviously trying to keep the situation light. Combeferre found himself thinking of Courfeyrac's smile at the question and he smiled to himself.

"I'm well. Courfeyrac and I are... together, I guess. For lack of a better word." Combeferre then blanched, remembering the sleepy late-night conversation in which they both recounted their sexual partners. (Combeferre had only two before- according to Courfeyrac, when that information was taken into account, he was _quite_ impressive) Enjolras had been among Courfeyrac's.

"That's good. You haven't seen Montparnasse around, have you?" Enjolras seemed distracted, and Combeferre raised a brow at his friend's white knuckles, tangled in the slightly dirty linen sheets on the cot.

"He's working the back wall for the rest of the day." Was all Combeferre said, choosing wisely to not question or push Enjolras. "I have a question for you, though. A pretty serious one."

"Shoot." Enjolras smirked at his little pun, but Combeferre just rolled his eyes.

"How did you and Éponine make it off the plantation?"

Enjolras felt his hand subconsciously reach up to feel at the still-tender skin of his neck, where he would always have a slight indentation from where Éponine carved the venom from his body. He blinked and kept his eyes shut for a good while before telling the story.

* * *

_Enjolras's feet couldn't seem to move fast enough. His vision bumped and skittered with each leaping step, and all he could see was fire and the smoke that obscured the stars and moon. A few moans and rattling breaths met his ears, but he just gripped his gun and kept running. The air grew unbearably hot as he neared the burning barn, and the door..._

_The door was wide open. His heart felt as though someone took it into rough hands and squeezed with all their might. He ran right inside without thinking of the consequences. _

_The hay created a nearly impenetrable haze before Enjolras's eyes, and he resisted the urge to cough, for that would alert the walkers that most definitely lurked in the shadows. He searched and, once again, tried to not call out for her. The hayloft had collapsed, spilling hay down like a waterfall onto the ground of the barn. _

_Enjolras suddenly became aware of a grotesque noise nearby that sounded awfully, _horribly_ like flesh being devoured. He stepped stupidly towards the hidden sound until his foot caught on something that lay still on the ground. When he looked down, the cake in his stomach nearly made a reprise._

_It was a leg of a recently deceased human. Judging by the size and the choice of cameo khakis, it belonged to Gueulemer. _

_Enjolras pushed down the disgust and the pang of loss deep within his chest and kept moving until his gaze fell upon a scene illuminated by what little moonlight still shone within the cavernous barn. At the sight, his mouth went dry and his heart nearly ceased to beat. _

_A hoard was greedily gnawing at a body that was hidden by blood and decomposed bodies. However, a single aspect was clearly visible, and it was this that caused Enjolras to nearly rush forward into the hoard and risk his life to save the victim. _

_What he could see was a hand that emerged from the chaos, still attached to the mutilated body. The fingers were twisting in the hay as if desperately grasping for something to hold in the midst of pain. The hand was clad in a red fingerless glove. _

_Enjolras ignored the burning in his throat that spoke of a scream ready to be released and took careful aim. He kept his eyes open when he squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet into the mess and hitting something right, for the hand ceased its ministrations and went limp. He felt numb, as if everything was just a dream, but his heart was ripping inch by painful inch, for she was gone._

_Enjolras had been the one to finally kill her. Because he was _not _a Thénardier and he _would _keep his promise to Éponine._

_He backed out of the barn slowly and with a weight settled in his chest. He could care less if he died now- it sounded dramatic, but it was true. Never before had he cared for anyone this deeply, and without her he felt... empty. Devoid of any motivation or hope._

_A pebble hit him suddenly from far behind him, and he turned, catching sight of the open, burning barn and nothing else. Another pebble came falling as if from the sky, striking his forehead. He cursed under his breath and trailed his eyes up the barn, stopping and nearly screaming at the sight of what he initially thought to be a ghost. _

_Éponine was perched on the roof of the barn, her fingers holding to the edge and her hand filled with pebbles. Only one of her hands had a glove on it. She motioned desperately to him as if to say, _Help me, you idiot!

_She then pointed at something close behind him, and he turned to see three walkers coming towards him in their stumbling manner, arms outstretched and feet dragging in the dead grass. Panicking slightly and not wanting to use his gun, Enjolras kicked at one, sending it tumbling into the others. They all fell to the ground but made as if to stand, and he ran over and bashed their heads in with his foot. _

_Éponine was alive. It defied all his expectations and it filled him with relief and contentment, even when they were surrounded by death and unlikely to escape. Enjolras turned back to her and held out his arms. Where Éponine would have hesitated in trusting someone to catch her from so high, she simply flung herself from the roof and went crashing into Enjolras, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Her elbows dug into his stomach and her hair filled his mouth, but she was alright and very much _alive_, and that was what mattered._

_They stood with only a little bit of difficulty, and Enjolras's hands clumsily held her chin and clutched at her cheeks as if to make sure that she was real. Her arm grabbed his waist and began to tug him towards the house, but just as they came within the surrounding gardens, the front door suddenly burst, revealing a swarm that looked particularly hungry. _

_"Shit," Éponine cried. "The cellar walkers."_

_"Oh, yeah, by the way," Enjolras felt bitterness creeping into his voice. "Your precious pets killed little Arianne."_

_"What?" Éponine seemed broken, her voice thin and her eyes big on his face. He swallowed a big lump in his throat that felt suspiciously like his heart.  
_

_"I'll explain later. Let's get to the truck." He said, shortly. She nodded and tightened her grip around him. They just barely managed to support each other, both of them reaping the consequences from Éponine's jump. Close behind them, they could hear the hisses and moans as the entire hoard from the farm seemed to track them to Enjolras's red truck, which lay unused and in an open patch of grass. _

_"You can drive." Éponine said, removing a bobby pin from her hair and handing it to him. "We don't have the keys, we're going to have to hotwire."_

_"Or, you know, my mom always makes sure that I keep a spare in the glove compartment." Enjolras smirked as Éponine chuckled at his mother's antics. They climbed into the car, and only moments later, the vehicle lurched forward as the first few walkers grabbed at the trunk. _

_"Drive!" Éponine cried, looking back and feeling the urgency of the situation growing as a few walkers began to climb into the truck bed. _

_"I'm trying!" Enjolras snapped, and as if on cue the truck roared to life and he quickly shifted into drive and shot forwards, nearly sending Éponine tumbling over the dash. It did the trick though, and as they drove over the grass, the walkers' grip began to loosen and they fell off one-by-one until a single over-achieving corpse remained, pulling itself into the actual bed where it would be near impossible to fall. _

_Éponine turned around in her seat and reached for the back window, sliding it open. Almost immediately, the walker stuck its head and arms in, trying to pull itself towards Éponine and Enjolras. _

_"Cover your ears." She said casually. Then, she pulled the trigger, sending walker brains and blood all over the back seat of the car and her face. Enjolras winced and swerved when the shot sounded in his ear, but he quickly corrected and managed to pull them onto the abandoned road. Once the tires smoothed over the black top, both of them relaxed into their seats. The car still smelt like a dead body, and their limbs were still quivering from the adrenaline, but for the moment they were safe. _

* * *

"Wow." Combeferre exhaled slowly. "That was half good luck and half... well,"

"It was all good luck." Enjolras finished for him. "I felt bad for leaving you guys, but at the time, I could only worry about one person..."

"What about yourself?" Combeferre inquired. "Didn't you think about your own safety?"

Enjolras thought on the question before fairly quickly deciding an answer. "No, not really. I just had to get her out of there."

"Damn." When Combeferre said that, Enjolras's head snapped over to his friend. Combeferre used to _never _curse. A lot had changed since the plantation. "You really liked her, don't you?"

"I _loved_ her." He corrected. Then he awkwardly brushed a hand through his hair. "Still do."

"Can I ask, then, why did you leave?" Combeferre's question was a good one, and Enjolras's original motive was simply not good enough to answer, so he just told Combeferre what he told her.

* * *

_"__Éponine_, why don't you trust me?" His voice was quiet but intense, and although he was aware that his grip on her arm was far too tight, he simply tightened it. He didn't know if he_ had any way of hearing their conversation- for all that Enjolras knew, the Sergeant had eyes and ears all throughout Waterloo. __  
_

___Éponine_'s eyes seemed to bore into him as if made of fire. She tried to pull her arm out of his grasp, but he just tugged her closer, ready to hear her answer.  


_"You _know _that I trust you." her voice was thick. "But... He's _family_, Enjolras. If you saw any of them again, wouldn't you stay with them over me?"_

_"It's different."_

_"How?" She demanded, looking at him with her eyebrows lowered dangerously over her eyes, and the irises there gleaming with barely concealed anger. "How is it any different?"_

_"It just is." Enjolras tried, but ____Éponine_'s sheer obliviousness made it hard to not blurt the truth to her face. 

_"Tell me, Enjolras. Wouldn't you do the same thing? Wouldn't you let me go by myself in sake of staying with your family?" ____Éponine_ shot at him, and he had to clench his fists close by his sides so that the urge to hit them against something would go away. He would never hit ___Éponine_, but... His aim was not always the best.  


_"It's different." He repeated. When he saw the 'why' pressed against her lips and ready to fly between them, he snapped. "Because _my _family isn't corrupt, they aren't monsters!"_

_Her hand snapped the air and stung his cheek, sending him reeling back from the force behind her smack. "How dare you." She backed away and turned her back to him. The nearby barricade that protected the little town against potential walkers seemed to have caught her attention, as she chose to look at it instead of Enjolras. "He's my father, Enjolras." She whispered. _

_He felt crushed and almost on the verge of tears, but that underlying thread of anger threatened to escape, and he wanted her to remember, when he left her, that he was not anything like the monster he would be leaving her with. So he came close to her and snagged her arm in his grasp and forced her around to look at him._

_"____Éponine_," her name fell like a prayer from his lips, and he knew how much he would miss saying it. For there was no way he would be able to say it without saying it to _her. "I chose you once, and this time, I chose my life." _

_Her mouth hung open; he had never told her that the others at the plantation had escaped. She had been under the impression that they were all gone; Enjolras could see it clearly in her eyes. He understood her fear; she was afraid to ask him about their fates in case of her assumptions being confirmed. Now they had just been denied, and he was leaving her, just like that._

_The next morning, Brujon offered to drive Enjolras and Musichetta out of town. ______Éponine_ stood atop the main barricade and watched the car slowly drive away. She could see Enjolras's blond curls through the back window, and she waited for him to turn back so that she could wave. 

_He didn't look back._

* * *

Enjolras was left alone for the first night and morning, allowed to have some time to himself while the others chittered about the news of his state as not-dead. That, and get close to Musichetta. The beautiful girl was helpful in cleaning the fences of walkers, and it already appeared that Joly had his eyes on her. They would make a funny-looking couple, were they to ever get together. Joly with his gangly limbs and ginger curls and his white skin and awkward gait, and Musichetta with her long, ink-black dreadlocks and dark skin and her muscular stance. At least they both shared stunning smiles.

When Feuilly rang the lunch bell, Valjean entered Enjolras's cell and sat at his step-son's feet, where Enjolras was looking at the group picture that Cosette had given to him the night before, willingly handed over by Valjean. And now, Enjolras finally put it down. Valjean's already cracked and bleeding heart tore a little more at the sight of the usually stiff boy's red-rimmed eyes.

"Did you meet Musichetta before or after you left Éponine behind?"

Enjolras started at Valjean's bluntness, but slowly nodded and began to tell him.

* * *

_The truck had run out of gas several days ago, leaving Enjolras and Éponine to walk to their unknown destination. "Somewhere safe." That was their only requirement.  
_

_They had absolutely nothing but for a fanny pack filled with protein bars and a tin water bottle each, but still their hands remained entwined as they walked. The cold, while shiver-inducing, was not quite bad enough to hurry their search. In the amount of time they had been on their own- a good few weeks-, the couple had grown closer than either ever thought. With Enjolras's help, Éponine was able to recount the ghostly hands that had touched her without her consent, and soon filled the nightmares' place with memories of Enjolras's hands and mouth. Afterwards, when the windows of the car were still fogged up against the cold, Enjolras would confess his fears and his feelings- or, occasionally, lack of._

_They were almost too close to stand the other, but at the same time, their hearts were connected and they felt permanently as one. So, when Éponine began to cough, Enjolras could sense that there was something wrong. _

_Her illness got worse, and even though she did her best to hide her whooping coughs from him, he could always tell when she would come back within his vincity and her breathing would be ragged and her eyes slightly watery. It grew harder for her to walk in a straight line. Her hands were both cold and sweaty, and she constantly shook with the force of her fever. _

_Enjolras worried constantly. He was unable to sleep, even with her pressed against his chest, for he could feel her burning skin through their layers and he could practically _smell _the sickness on her unwashed body. One morning, when Éponine was watching their little camp in a clearing, Enjolras heard a dull thump. When he turned, he was filled with horror and hopelessness when he caught sight of Éponine lying spread-eagled on the ground where she'd fallen from a tree. He ran to her and stuck his fingers against her weak pulse, the point of which was coated with chilly sweat. _

_He was losing her, right after he'd barely saved her. Enjolras knew he was about to loose it, but he couldn't, for her sake. He picked her up and choked back a threatening sob when her head lolled over his arm. He carried her to the clearing, and nearly stopped when he saw a woman bent over their food supply, nibbling at a half-eaten pop-tart. She stopped in her place when she saw Enjolras's accusing glare, but her eyebrows raised when she caught sight of a limp Éponine._

_"I can help her, you know." She said. "On one condition."_

_"I'll do it, whatever it is." Enjolras promised. "Just.. help her."_

_"Let us join you." She said. "My name's Musichetta."_

_"Enjolras." He said, and then frowned. "Wait a sec, who else is there?"_

_Musichetta disappeared behind a nearby tree and emerged with a rattling of chains. Enjolras's jaw dropped and Éponine nearly fell back to the ground. Musichetta had two walkers, with no jaws or arms, chained together and also to a stick that she held. Enjolras's nose quickly smelt the corpses, and the sheer genius of her idea became obvious. Musichetta's pet walkers would push away any others. _

_"So, can we?" She asked, indicating her 'friends'. Enjolras wondered briefly if she ever thought to name them. He immediately dismissed the idea. If she could really help __Éponine_, her addition to their- well, now_, it's a- group was more than worth it._

_"Sure, why not?"_

* * *

"If you cared so much for Éponine's safety-" Valjean began. Enjolras groaned and interrupted.

"I've already been over that with Combeferre. I'd rather not retell that story again." He said. Valjean nodded to show his understanding and clasped Enjolras's shoulder. The men were there, alone yet together. In a way, their individual solitude made them all the more susceptible to each other's company.

"Why did you want to leave in the first place?" He questioned, finally. Enjolras shot him a look that, while cold, had an underlying tint of affection.

"He's a monster. The Sergeant, that is." Enjolras said as way of explanation. "He ruled over Waterloo, yes, named after the battle for whatever reason. He seemed friendly, and the town was nice. But... He is an awful person. The things he did to ensure their safety..." Enjolras shuddered. "Éponine stayed because he's... well, the Sergeant is her dad."

Valjean frowned. "The same one who chained them up?" Enjolras let his silence be an answer. "Well," Valjean's voice was cool and logical, but still slightly confused. "Why would she want to stay with someone who did that to her?"

"Hell if I know. When 'Chetta and I were allowed to leave, his second-in-command, Claquesous, drove us out of hearing range, brought us out of the car and... That bastard... The Sergeant sent him to _kill_ us. Claquesous shot at us and left us there. What sort of man would send someone to-" His voice broke off and his eyes widened. Enjolras stood suddenly, muttering to himself. "The same man I left her with. _SHIT_." He shouted the last word and began to shove his few possessions into his fanny pack. Valjean stopped him with a tired hand.

"Stop, they tried to kill you. What will he do if you return?" He asked. Enjolras tore away and, breathing heavily, began to pace. "You've just got to hope she'll-"

"As a reward to his men," Enjolras's voice was rough. "The Sergeant would give women who did no other work to them. The women were fucking _branded_. He treats women like possessions- like fucking _cattle_. One of them is only fifteen. What if he does that to her?"

"Enjolras, calm down." Valjean grabbed either side of the boy's face. Really, especially in moments such as these, he seemed so young, so lost in the ways of the world. "All you can do is pray that he'll remember that she is his daughter. How did you and Musichetta get away if you were shot at?"

"Bulletproof vests." Enjolras said absently. "I was snooping around one day and I found a few- I kinda suspected that he would try something like that if we left."

"Hope for Éponine's safety, Enjolras." Once Valjean was sure that Enjolras was relatively calm, he let go and left, turning back to give a small smile. "Pray."

Enjolras said to the empty cell, "Pray. Right."

* * *

The first few days at the prison suited Enjolras and Musichetta well. They blended in seamlessly, Enjolras returning to his rightful place as the leader in Combeferre's place (the latter quite willingly stepped down, preferring to spend time either reading in the prison's library or lounging on the grass with Courfeyrac than worrying about everyone's safety, which he already did enough of independently) and Musichetta easily making her place as one of the group's top fighters and all around confidant. For all that she had a tough-girl facade, she was open and social around others. Enjolras had gotten his... situation with Montparnasse handled, the dark-haired boy emerging from a side room one day with a bruised and battered face and eyes full of guilt.

However, their free time soon ended when they took up shifts of watch. Watch, especially for them, was difficult. Walkers flocked the prison gates, and the temptation to shoot them and de-animate the corpses was too strong. That being, Enjolras preferred to stick in the watch tower with one of the others patrolling the gate while he kept his sight on the prison yard or the road in sign of either human threats or breaches missed by the one on the ground.

One such shift found Enjolras in the tower, quite nearly dozing off at the window facing the road, and Bossuet holding his rifle close to his body and pacing the length of the fence in a dark, cricket-filled night. Bossuet was uncomfortable with watch duty; knowing his luck, an entire hoard would manage to get through the fence with him unable to warn the others. Either that, or he would end up walking too close to the fence and get bit/scratched by a reaching walker. On top of all of that, the possibility of his gun accidentally going off and hitting him was very high.

However, at night time he could relax a little bit. For whatever reason, he felt safer in the night. The prison had no lights inside it to draw any visual walkers to it, and the crickets and bugs of the night made more noise than the moaning walkers that rattled the gate. Without much of a risk of threat, Bossuet found his mind wandering to unwanted topics, the key featured thought being of his love life, or lack thereof.

When he first saw Musichetta, he was struck in the same way that Joly had been. Then again, the strange little med student had been growing on Bossuet for nearly two years, and he had grown to hold not-so-platonic feelings towards his friend. With the added confliction of Joly's feelings for Musichetta and her consistent flirting with the both of them, Bossuet simply didn't know what to think.

A sudden movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and Bossuet's entire body faced it, only for his blood to run cold. A figure, almost shrouded in the dark, was climbing the fence. Judging by the skinny limbs and the matted hair, it was a walker. Its hands weakly grasped the chain link as it climbed slowly. He pulled the walky talky out of his pocket, knowing that the other two connected to the system were in the right place to be heard.

"Shit, guys, they're climbing the fence!" He squawked into the speaker and allowed the walky talky to fall back into his pocket. He raised his gun with shaking arms and took careful aim at the figure. One of its legs overstepped the barbed wire that lined the top, and for whatever reason, Bossuet waited until both of its legs were comfortably over the barbed wire before he pressed his finger over the trigger.

It fell from the gate like a stone, and with a very human yelp. Bossuet's eyes widened in shock as the figure made harsh contact with the ground and lay with a heaving chest there. He ran for the space where the person fell, running in hopes that his luck hadn't made him shoot an innocent. He fell to his knees at the side of the wincing figure on the ground.

"Guys," He said into his walky talky. He was dimly aware of Enjolras running across the lawn to join him. "This isn't a walker..."

The figure sat up, crying out in momentary pain, and it was then that Bossuet saw the long hair that fell down their shoulders, shown to be dark by the glint of moonlight in the hair. He had no doubt, then, who it was that had managed to find them and climb over.

"The Sergeant knows about the prison." Éponine panted.

* * *

**See what I did there? The Sergeant of Waterloo? Hahahahaha _I'm hilarious_. (Brick references for the win)**

**... So Enjonine will meet again next chapter, and Courfeyrac/Combeferre happened. Any thoughts on their future meeting and/or the upcoming conflict?**


End file.
